Frankenstein, or, The modern Prometheus

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Presented to the
LIBRARY of the

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

by

Mrs . Andrew Kellogg

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INTRODUCTION. IX

would speak to the mysterious fears of our nature, and
awaken thrilling horror — one to make the reader
dread to look round, to curdle the blood, and quicken
the beatings of the heart. If I did not accomplish
these things, my ghost story would be unworthy of its
name. I thought and pondered — vainly. I felt that
blank incapability of invention which is the greatest
misery of authorship, when dull Nothing replies to our
anxious invocations. Have you thought of a story ? I
was asked each morning, and each morning I was
forced to reply with a mortifying negative.

Every thing must have a beginning, to speak in San-
chean phrase ; and that beginning must be linked to
something that went before. The Hindoos give the
world an elephant to support it, but they make the ele-
phant stand upon a tortoise. Invention, it must be
humbly admitted, does not consist in creating out of
void, but out of chaos ; the materials must, in the first
place, be afforded : it can give form to dark, shapeless
substances, but cannot bring into being the substance
itself. In all matters of discovery and invention, even
of those that appertain to the imagination, we are con-
tinually reminded of the story of Columbus and his egg.
Invention consists in the capacity of seizing on the
capabilities of a subject, and in the power of moulding
and fashioning ideas suggested to it.

Many and long were the conversations between Lord
Byron and Shelley, to which I was a devout but nearly
silent listener. During one of these, various philo-
sophical doctrines were discussed, and among others
the nature of the principle of life, and whether there
was any probability of its ever being discovered and
communicated. They talked of the experiments of

X INTRODUCTION.

Dr. Darwin, (I speak not of what the Doctor really did, or
said that he did, but, as more to my purpose, of what was
then spoken of as having been done by him,) who pre-
served a piece of vermicelli in a glass case, till by some
extraordinary means it began to move with voluntary
motion. Not thus, after all, would life be given. Per-
haps a corpse would be re-animated ; galvanism had
given token of such things: perhaps the component
parts of a creature might be manufactured, brought to-
gether, and endued with vital warmth.

Night waned upon this talk, and even the witching
hour had gone by, before we retired to rest. When I
placed my head on my pillow, I did not sleep, nor
could I be said to think. My imagination, unbidden,
possessed and guided me, gifting the successive images
that arose in my mind with a vividness far beyond the
usual bounds of reverie. I saw — with shut eyes, but
acute mental vision, — I saw the pale student of un-
hallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put
together. I saw the hideous phantasm of a man stretched
out, and then, on the working of some powerful engine,
show signs of life, and stir with an uneasy, half vital
motion. Frightful must it be ; for supremely frightful
would be the effect of any human endeavour to mock
the stupendous mechanism of the Creator of the world.
His success would terrify the artist; he would rush
away from his odious handywork, horror-stricken. He
would hope that, left to itself, the slight spark of life
which he had communicated would fade ; that this
thing, which had received such imperfect animation,
would subside into dead matter; and he might sleep in
the belief that the silence of the grave would quench
for ever the transient existence of the hideous corpse

INTRODUCTION. XI

which he had looked upon as the cradle of life. He
sleeps ; but he is awakened ; he opens his eyes ; behold
the horrid thing stands at his bedside, opening his cur-
tains, and looking on him with yellow, watery, but
speculative eyes.

I opened mine in terror. The idea so possessed my
mind, that a thrill of fear ran through me, and I wished
to exchange the ghastly image of my fancy for the
realities around. I see them still ; the very room, the
dark parquet, the closed shutters, with the moonlight
struggling through, and the sense I had that the glassy
lake and white high Alps were beyond. I could not so
easily get rid of my hideous phantom ; still it haunted
me. I must try to think of something else. I recurred
to my ghost story, — my tiresome unlucky ghost story!
O ! if I could only contrive one which would frighten
my reader as I myself had been frightened that night !

Swift as light and as cheering was the idea that broke
in upon me. " I have found it 1 What terrified me will
terrify others ; and I need only describe the spectre
which had haunted my midnight pillow." On the mor-
row I announced that I had thought of a story. I began
that day with the words, It was on a dreary night of No-
vember, making only a transcript of the grim terrors of
my waking dream.

At first I thought but of a few pages — of a short tale ;
but Shelley urged me to develope the idea at greater
length. I certainly did not owe the suggestion of one
incident, nor scarcely of one train of feeling, to my hus-
band, and yet but for his incitement, it would never have
taken the form in which it was presented to the world.
From this declaration I must except the preface. As
far as I can recollect, it was entirely written by him.

Xll INTRODUCTION.

And now, once again, I bid my hideous progeny go
forth and prosper. I have an affection for it, for it was
the offspring of happy days, when death and grief were
but words, which found no true echo in my heart. Its
several pages speak of many a walk, many a drive, and
many a conversation, when I was not alone ; and my com-
panion was one who, in this world, I shall never see
more. But this is for myself ; my readers have nothing
to do with these associations.

1 will add but one word as to the alterations I have
made. They are principally those of style. I have
changed no portion of the story, nor introduced any
new ideas or circumstances. I have mended the lan-
guage where it was so bald as to interfere with the
interest of the narrative; and these changes occur
almost exclusively in the beginning of the first volume.
Throughout they are entirely confined to such parts as
are mere adjuncts to the story, leaving the core and
substance of it untouched,

M. W. S.

London, October 1 5. 1831.

PREFACE.

THE event on which this fiction is founded, has been
supposed, by Dr. Darwin, and some of the physiological
writers of Germany, as not of impossible occurrence. I
shall not be supposed as according the remotest degree of
serious faith to such an imagination ; yet, in assuming it
as the basis of a work of fancy, I have not considered my-
self as merely weaving a series of supernatural terrors. The
event on which the interest of the story depends is exempt
from the disadvantages of a mere tale of spectres or en-
chantment. It was recommended by the novelty of the
situations which it developes ; and, however impossible as
a physical fact, affords a point of view to the imagination
for the delineating of human passions more comprehensive
and commanding than any which the ordinary relations of
existing events can yield.

I have thus endeavoured to preserve the truth of the
elementary principles of human nature, while I have not
scrupled to innovate upon their combinations. The Iliad,,
the tragic poetry of Greece, — Shakspeare, in the Tempest,
and Midsummer Night's Dream, — and most especially
Milton, in Paradise Lost, conform to this rule ; and the
most humble novelist, who seeks to confer or receive amuse-
ment from his labours, may, without presumption, apply to
prose fiction a licence, or rather a rule, from the adoption
of which so many exquisite combinations of human feeling
have resulted in the highest specimens of poetry.

The circumstance on which my story rests was suggested
in casual conversation. It was commenced partly as a
source of amusement, and partly as an expedient for exer-
cising any untried resources of mind. Other motives were

Z PBEFACHSJ.

mingled with these, as the work proceeded. I am by no
means indifferent to the manner in which whatever moral
tendencies exist in the sentiments or characters it contains
shall affect the reader ; yet my chief concern in this respect
has been limited to the avoiding the enervating effects of
the novels of the present day, and to the exhibition of the
amiableness of domestic affection, and the excellence of
universal virtue. The opinions which naturally spring
from the character and situation of the hero are by no
means to be conceived as existing always in my own con-
viction j nor is any inference justly to be drawn from the
following pages as prejudicing any philosophical doctrine of
whatever kind.

It is a subject also of additional interest to the author,
that this story was begun in the majestic region where the
scene is principally laid, and in society which cannot cease
to be regretted. I passed the summer of 1816 in the en-
virons of Geneva. The season was cold and rainy, and in
the evenings we crowded around a blazing wood fire, and
occasionally amused ourselves with some German stories of
ghosts, which happened to fall into our hands. These tales
excited in us a playful desire of imitation. Two other
friends (a tale from the pen of one of whom would be far
more acceptable to the public than any thing I can ever
hope to produce) and myself agreed to write each a story,
founded on some supernatural occurrence.

The weather, however, suddenly became serene ; and my
two friends left me on a journey among the Alps, and lost,
in the magnificent scenes which they present, all memory
of their ghostly visions. The following tale is the only one
which has been completed.

Marlow, September, 1817.

FRANKENSTEIN ;

OR,

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS.

LETTER I.

To Mrs. Saville, England.

St. Petersburgh, Dec. llth, 17—.

You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied
the commencement of an enterprise which you have re-
garded with such evil forebodings. I arrived here yesterday;
and my first task is to assure my dear sister of my welfare,
and increasing confidence in the success of my undertaking.
I am already far north of London j and as I walk in the
streets of Petersburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play
upon my cheeks, which braces my nerves, and fills me
with delight. Do you understand this feeling ? This breeze,
which has travelled from the regions towards which I am
advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy climes. In-
spirited by this wind of promise, my day dreams become
more fervent and vivid. I try in vain to be persuaded that
the pole is the seat of frost and desolation ; it ever presents
itself to my imagination as the region of beauty and de-
light. There, Margaret, the sun is for ever visible; its
broad disk just skirting the horizon, and diffusing a per-
petual splendour. There — for with your leave, my sister,
I will put some trust in preceding navigators — there snow
and frost are banished ; and, sailing over a calm sea, we
may be wafted to a land surpassing in wonders and in
beauty every region hitherto discovered on the habitable
globe. Its productions and features may be without ex-
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4 FRANKENSTEIN ; OB,

ample, as the phenomena of the heavenly bodies undoubtedly
are in those undiscovered solitudes. What may not be
expected in a country of eternal light ? I may there dis-
cover the wondrous power which attracts the needle ; and
may regulate a thousand celestial observations, that require
only this voyage to render their seeming eccentricities con-
sistent for ever. I shall satiate my ardent curiosity with
the sight of a part of the world never before visited, and
may tread a land never before imprinted by the foot of
man. These are my enticements, and they are sufficient
to conquer all fear of danger or death, and to induce me
to commence this laborious voyage with the joy a child
feels when he embarks in a little boat,, with his holiday mates,
on an expedition of discovery up his native river. But,
supposing all these conjectures to be false, you cannot con-
test the inestimable benefit which I shall confer on all
mankind to the last generation, by discovering a passage
near the pole to those countries, to reach which at present
so many months are requisite ; or by ascertaining the secret
of the magnet, which, if at all possible, can only be effected
by an undertaking such as mine.

These reflections have dispelled the agitation with which
I began my letter, and I feel my heart glow with an en-
thusiasm which elevates me to heaven ; for nothing con-
tributes so much to tranquillise the mind as a steady purpose,
— a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye.
This expedition has been the favourite dream of my early
years. I have read with ardour the accounts of the various
voyages which have been made in the prospect of arriving
at the North Pacific Ocean through the seas which surround
the pole. You may remember, that a history of all the
voyages made for purposes of discovery composed the whole
of our good uncle Thomas's library. My education was
neglected, yet I was passionately fond of reading. These
volumes were my study day and night, and my familiarity
with them increased that regret which I had felt, as a child,
on learning that my father's dying injunction had forbidden
my uncle to allow me to embark in a seafaring life.

These visions faded when I perused, for the first time,
those poets whose effusions entranced my soul, and lifted

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 5

it to heaven. I also became a poet, and for one year lived
in a Paradise of my own creation ; 1 imagined that I also
might obtain a niche in the temple where the names of
Homer and Shakspeare are consecrated. You are well
acquainted with my failure, and how heavily I bore the
disappointment. But just at that time I inherited the for-
tune of my cousin, and my thoughts were turned into the
channel of their earlier bent.

Six years have passed since I resolved on my present
undertaking. I can, even now, remember the hour from
which I dedicated myself to this great enterprise. I com-
menced by inuring my body to hardship. I accompanied
the whale-fishers on several expeditions to the North Sea ;
I voluntarily endured cold, famine, thirst, and want of
sleep ; I often worked harder than the common sailors during
the day, and devoted my nights to the study of mathematics,,
the theory of medicine, and those branches of physical
science from which a naval adventurer might derive the
greatest practical advantage. Twice I actually hired my-
self as an under-mate in a Greenland whaler, and acquitted
myself to admiration. I must own I felt a little proud,
when my captain offered me the second dignity in the
vessel, and entreated me to remain with the greatest ear-
nestness ; so valuable did he consider my services.

And now, dear Margaret, do I not deserve to accomplish
some great purpose ? My life might have been passed in
ease and luxury ; but I preferred glory to every enticement
that wealth placed in my path. Oh, that some encouraging
voice would answer in the affirmative ! My courage and
my resolution is firm ; but my hopes fluctuate, and my
spirits are often depressed. I am about to proceed on a
long and difficult voyage, the emergencies of which will
demand all my fortitude : I am required not only to raise
the spirits of others, but sometimes to sustain my own,
when theirs are failing.

This is the most favourable period for travelling in
Russia. They fly quickly over the snow in their sledges ;
the motion is pleasant, and, in my opinion, far more agree-
able than that of an English stage-coach. The cold is not
excessive, if you are wrapped in furs, — a dress which I have

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6 FRANKENSTEIN j OR,

already adopted ; for there is a great difference between
walking the deck and remaining seated motionless for hours,
when no exercise prevents the blood from actually freezing
in your veins. I have no ambition to lose my life on the
post-road between St. Petersburgh and Archangel.

I shall depart for the latter town in a fortnight or three
weeks ; and my intention is to hire a ship there, which can
easily be done by paying the insurance for the owner, and
to engage as many sailors as I think necessary among
those who are accustomed to the whale-fishing. I do not
intend to sail until the month of June ; and when shall I
return ? Ah, dear sister, how can I answer this question ?
If I succeed, many, many months, perhaps years, will pass
before you and I may meet. If I fail, you will see me
again soon, or never.

Farewell, my dear, excellent Margaret. Heaven shower
down blessings on you, and save me, that I may again and
again testify my gratitude for all your love and kindness.
Your affectionate brother,

R. WALTON.

LETTER II.
To Mrs. Saville, England.

Archangel, 28th March, 17 —

How slowly the time passes here, encompassed as I am
by frost and snow ! yet a second step is taken towards my
enterprise. I have hired a vessel, and am occupied in col-
lecting my sailors ; those whom I have already engaged,
appear to be men on whom I can depend, and are certainly
possessed of dauntless courage.

But I have one want which I have never yet been able
to satisfy ; and the absence of the object of which I now
feel as a most severe evil. I have no friend, Margaret :
when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success, there
will be none to participate my joy ; if I am assailed by
disappointment, no one will endeavour to sustain me in
dejection. I shall commit my thoughts to paper, it is
true j but that is a poor medium for the communication of

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 7

feeling. I desire the company of a man who could sym-
pathise with me ; whose eyes would reply to mine. You
may deem me romantic, my dear sister, but I bitterly feel
the want of a friend. I have no one near me, gentle yet
courageous, possessed of a cultivated as well as of a capacious
mind, whose tastes are like my own, to approve or amend
my plans. How would such a friend repair the faults of
your poor brother ! I am too ardent in execution, and too
impatient of difficulties. But it is a still greater evil to me
that I am self-educated : for the first fourteen years of my
life I ran wild on a common, and read nothing but our
uncle Thomas's books of voyages. At that age I became
acquainted with the celebrated poets of our own country ;
but it was only when it had ceased to be in my power to
derive its most important benefits from such a conviction,
that I perceived the necessity of becoming acquainted with
more languages than that of my native country. Now I
am twenty-eight, and am in reality more illiterate than
many schoolboys of fifteen. It is true that I have thought
more, and that my day dreams are more extended and
magnificent; but they want (as the painters call it) keeping ;
and I greatly need a friend who would have sense enough
not to despise me as romantic, and affection enough for me
to endeavour to regulate my mind.

Well, these are useless complaints ; I shall certainly find
no friend on the wide ocean, nor even here in Archangel,
among merchants and seamen. Yet some feelings, un-
allied to the dross of human nature, beat even in these
rugged bosoms. My lieutenant, for instance, is a man of
wonderful courage and enterprise ; he is madly desirous of
glory : or rather, to word my phrase more characteristically,
of advancement in his profession. He is an Englishman,
and in the midst of national and professional prejudices,
unsoftened by cultivation, retains some of the noblest en-
dowments of humanity. I first became acquainted with
him on board a whale vessel : finding that he was unem-
ployed in this city, I easily engaged him to assist in my
enterprise.

The master is a person of an excellent disposition, and
is remarkable in the ship for his gentleness and the mild-
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8 FRANKENSTEIN ; OH,

ness of his discipline. This circumstance, added to his
well known integrity and dauntless courage, made me very
desirous to engage him. A youth passed in solitude, my
best years spent under your gentle and feminine fosterage,
has so refined the groundwork of my character, that I can-
not overcome an intense distaste to the usual brutality ex-
ercised on board ship : I have never believed it to be
necessary; and when I heard of a mariner equally noted for
his kindliness of heart, and the respect and obedience paid
to him by his crew, I felt myself peculiarly fortunate in
being able to secure his services. I heard of him first in
rather a romantic manner, from a lady who owes to him
the happiness of her life. This, briefly, is his story.
Some years ago, he loved a young Russian lady, of mo-
derate fortune ; and having amassed a considerable sum in
prize-money, the father of the girl consented to the match.
He saw his mistress once before the destined ceremony ;
but she was bathed in tears, and, throwing herself at his
feet, entreated him to spare her, confessing at the same time
that she loved another, but that he was poor, and that her
father would never consent to the union. My generous
friend reassured the suppliant, and on being informed of
the name of her lover, instantly abandoned his pursuit.
He had already bought a farm with his money, on which
he had designed to pass the remainder of his life ; but he
bestowed the whole on his rival, together with the remains
of his prize-money to purchase stock, and then himself so-
licited the young woman's father to consent to her marriage
with her lover. But the old man decidedly refused, think-
ing himself bound in honour to my friend ; who, when he
found the father inexorable, quitted his country, nor re-
turned until he heard that his former mistress was married
according to her inclinations. " What a noble fellow ! "
you will exclaim. He is so ; but then he is wholly un-
educated : he is as silent as a Turk, and a kind of ignorant
carelessness attends him, which, while it renders his con-
duct the more astonishing, detracts from the interest and
sympathy which otherwise he would command.

Yet do not suppose, because I complain a little, or
because I can conceive a consolation for my toils which I

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 9

may never know, that I am wavering in my resolutions.
Those are as fixed as fate ; and my voyage is only now
delayed until the weather shall permit my embarkation.
The winter has been dreadfully severe ; but the spring
promises well, and it is considered as a remarkably early
season j so that perhaps I may sail sooner than I expected.
I shall do nothing rashly : you know me sufficiently to
confide in my prudence and considerateness, whenever the
safety of others is committed to my care.

I cannot describe to you my sensations on the near
prospect of my undertaking. It is impossible to communi-
cate to you a conception of the trembling sensation, half
pleasurable and half fearful, with which I am preparing to
depart. I am going to unexplored regions, to ee the land of
mist and snow j" but I shall kill no albatross, therefore do
not be alarmed for my safety, or if I should come back to
you as worn and woful as the fc Ancient Mariner ? " You
wih1 smile at my allusion ; but I will disclose a secret. I
have often attributed my attachment to, my passionate
enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of ocean, to that
production of the most imaginative of modern poets.
There is something at work in my soul, which I do not
understand. I am practically industrious — pains-taking;
— a workman to execute with perseverance and labour: — —
but besides this, there is a love for the marvellous, a
belief in the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which
hurries me out of the common pathways of men, even to
the wild sea and unvisited regions I am about to explore.

But to return to dearer considerations. Shall I meet
you again, after having traversed immense seas, and
returned by the most southern cape of Africa or America ?
I dare not expect such success, yet I cannot bear to look
on the reverse of the picture. Continue for the pre-
sent to write to me by every opportunity : I may re-
ceive your letters on some occasions when I need them
most to support my spirits. I love you very tenderly.
Remember me with affection, should you never hear from
me again.

Your affectionate brother,

ROBERT WALTON.

10 FRANKENSTEIN j OB,

LETTER III.
To Mrs. Saville, England.

MY DEAR SISTER, July 7th' 17— •

I WRITE a few lines in haste, to say that I am safe, and
well advanced on my voyage. This letter will reach Eng-
land by a merchantman now on its homeward voyage from
Archangel ; more fortunate than I, who may not see my
native land, perhaps, for many years. I am, however, in
good spirits : my men are bold, and apparently firm of pur-
pose ; nor do the floating sheets of ice that continually pass
us, indicating the dangers of the region towards which we
are advancing, appear to dismay them. We have already
reached a very high latitude ; but it is the height of sum-
mer, and although not so warm as in England, the southern
gales, which blow us speedily towards those shores which
I so ardently desire to attain, breathe a degree of renovat-
ing warmth which I had not expected.

No incidents have hitherto befallen us that would make
a figure in a letter. One or two stiff gales, and the spring-
ing of a leak, are accidents which experienced navigators
scarcely remember to record ; and I shall be well content
if nothing worse happen to us during our voyage.

Adieu, my dear Margaret. Be assured, that for my
own sake, as well as yours, I will not rashly encounter
danger. I will be cool, persevering, and prudent.

But success shall crown my endeavours. Wherefore
not ? Thus far I have gone, tracing a secure way over the
pathless seas : the very stars themselves being witnesses and
testimonies of my triumph. Why not still proceed over
the untamed yet obedient element? What can stop the
determined heart and resolved will of man ?

My swelling heart involuntarily pours itself out thus.
But I must finish. Heaven bless my beloved sister !

R. W.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 11

LETTER IV.

To Mrs, Savitte, England.

August 5th, 17 — .

So strange an accident has happened to us, that I cannot
forhear recording it, although it is very probable that you
will see me before these papers can come into your pos-
session.

Last Monday (July 3 1st),, we were nearly surrounded
by ice, which closed in the ship on all sides, scarcely leav-
ing her the sea-room in which she floated. Our situation
was somewhat dangerous, especially as we were compassed
round by a very thick fog. We accordingly lay to, hoping
that some change would take place in the atmosphere and
weather.

About two o'clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld,
stretched out in every direction, vast and irregular plains
of ice, which seemed to have no end. Some of my com-
rades groaned, and my own mind began to grow watchful
with anxious thoughts, when a strange sight suddenly
attracted our attention, and diverted our solicitude from
our own situation. We perceived a low carriage, fixed on
a sledge and drawn by dogs, pass on towards the north, at
the distance of half a mile : a being which had the shape
of a man, but apparently of gigantic stature, sat in the
sledge, and guided the dogs. We watched the rapid pro-
gress of the traveller with our telescopes, until he was lost
among the distant inequalities of the ice.

This appearance excited our unqualified wonder. We
were, as we believed, many hundred miles from any land ;
but this apparition seemed to denote that it was not, in
reality, so distant as we had supposed. Shut in, however,
by ice, it was impossible to follow his track, which we had
observed with the greatest attention.

About two hours after this occurrence, we heard the
ground sea ; and before night the ice broke, and freed our
ship. We, however, lay to until the morning, fearing to

12 FRANKENSTEIN; on,

encounter in the dark those large loose masses which float
about after the breaking up of the ice. I profited of this
time to rest for a few hours.

In the morning, however, as soon as it was light, I went
upon deck, and found all the sailors busy on one side of
the vessel, apparently talking to some one in the sea. It
was, in fact, a sledge, like that we had seen before, which
had drifted towards us in the night, on a large fragment of
ice. Only one dog remained alive ; but there was a human
being within it, whom the sailors were persuading to enter
the vessel. He was not, as the other traveller seemed to
be, a savage inhabitant of some undiscovered island, but an
European. When I appeared on deck, the master said,
" Here is our captain, and he will not allow you to perish
on the open sea."

On perceiving me, the stranger addressed me in English,
although with a foreign accent. " Before I come on board
your vessel," said he, " will you have the kindness to
inform me whither you are bound ? "

You may conceive my astonishment on hearing such a
question addressed to me from a man on the brink of de-
struction, and to whom I should have supposed that my
vessel would have been a resource which he would not have
exchanged for the most precious wealth the earth can
afford. I replied, however, that we were on a voyage of
discovery towards the northern pole.

Upon hearing this he appeared satisfied, and consented
to come on board. Good God ! Margaret, if you had seen
the man who thus capitulated for his safety, your surprise
would have been boundless. His limbs were nearly frozen,
and his body dreadfully emaciated by fatigue and suffering.
I never saw a man in so wretched a condition. We at-
tempted to carry him into the cabin ; but as soon as he had
quitted the fresh air, he fainted. We accordingly brought
him back to the deck, and restored him to animation by
rubbing him with brandy, and forcing him to swallow a
small quantity. As soon as he showed signs of life we
wrapped him up in blankets, and placed him near the chim-
ney of the kitchen stove. By slow degrees he recovered,
and ate a little soup, which restored him wonderfully.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 13

Two days passed in this manner before he was able to
speak ; and I often feared that his sufferings had deprived
him of understanding. When he had in some measure
recovered, I removed him to my own cabin, and attended
on him as much as my duty would permit. I never saw
a more interesting creature : his eyes have generally an
expression of wildness, and even madness ; but there are
moments when, if any one performs an act of kindness
towards him, or does him any the most trifling service, his
•whole countenance is lighted up, as it were, with a beam
of benevolence and sweetness that I never saw equalled.
But he is generally melancholy and despairing ; and some-
times he gnashes his teeth, as if impatient of the weight of
woes that oppresses him.

When my guest was a little recovered, I had great
trouble to keep off the men, who wished to ask him a
thousand questions ; but I would not allow him to be tor-
mented by their idle curiosity, in a state of body and mind
whose restoration evidently depended upon entire repose.
Once, however, the lieutenant asked, Why he had come so
far upon the ice in so strange a vehicle ?

His countenance instantly assumed an aspect of the
deepest gloom; and he replied, "To seek one who fled
from me."

" And did the man whom you pursued travel in the same
fashion ? "

« Yes."

<( Then I fancy we have seen him ; for the day before
we picked you up, we saw some dogs drawing a sledge,
with a man in it, across the ice."

This aroused the stranger's attention; and he asked a
multitude of questions concerning the route which the dae-
mon, as he called him, had pursued. Soon after, when he
was alone with me, he said, — " I have, doubtless, excited
your curiosity, as well as that of these good people ; but
you are too considerate to make enquiries."

" Certainly ; it would indeed be very impertinent and
inhuman in me to trouble you with any inquisitiveness of
mine."

14 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

ft And yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous
situation ; you have benevolently restored me to life."

Soon after this he enquired if I thought that the breaking
up of the ice had destroyed the other sledge ? I replied, that
I could not answer with any degree of certainty ; for the
ice had not broken until near midnight, and the traveller
might have arrived at a place of safety before that time ;
but of this I could not judge.

From this time a new spirit of life animated the decay-
ing frame of the stranger. He manifested the greatest
eagerness to be upon deck, to watch for the sledge which
had before appeared ; but I have persuaded him to remain
in the cabin, for he is far too weak to sustain the rawness
of the atmosphere. I have promised that some one should
watch for him, and give him instant notice if any new ob-
ject should appear in sight.

Such is my journal of what relates to this strange occur-
rence up to the present day. The stranger has gradually
improved in health, but is very silent, and appears uneasy
when any one except myself enters his cabin. Yet his
manners are so conciliating and gentle, that the sailors are
all interested in him, although they have had very little
communication with him. For my own part, I begin to
love him as a brother ; and his constant and deep grief fills
me with sympathy and compassion. He must have been
a noble creature in his better days, being even now in
wreck so attractive and amiable.

I said in one of my letters, my dear Margaret, that I
should find no friend on the wide ocean ; yet I have found
a man who, before his spirit had been broken by misery,
I should have been happy to have possessed as the brother
of my heart.

I shall continue my journal concerning the stranger at
intervals, should I have any fresh incidents to record.

August 13th, 17 — .

My affection for my guest increases every day. He ex-
cites at once my admiration and my pity to an astonishing
degree. How can I see so noble a creature destroyed by
misery, without feeling the most poignant grief? He is so

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 15

gentle, yet so wise ; his mind is so cultivated ; and when he
speaks, although his words are culled with the choicest art,
yet they flow with rapidity and unparalleled eloquence.

He is now much recovered from his illness, and is con-
tinually on the deck, apparently watching for the sledge
that preceded his own. Yet, although unhappy, he is not
so utterly occupied by his own misery, but that he interests
himself deeply in the projects of others. He has frequently
conversed with me on mine, which I have communicated
to him without disguise. He entered attentively into all
my arguments in favour of my eventual success, and into
every minute detail of the measures I had taken to secure
it. I was easily led by the sympathy which he evinced, to
use the language of my heart; to give utterance to the
burning ardour of my soul ; and to say, with all the fer-
vour that warmed me, how gladly I would sacrifice my for-
tune, my existence, my every hope, to the furtherance of my
enterprise. One man's life or death were but a small price
to pay for the acquirement of the knowledge which I
sought; for the dominion I should acquire and transmit
over the elemental foes of our race. As I spoke, a dark
gloom spread over my listener's countenance. At first I
perceived that he tried to suppress his emotion ; he placed
his hands before his eyes ; and my voice quivered and
failed me, as I beheld tears trickle fast from between his
fingers, — a groan burst from his heaving breast. I paused ;
— at length he spoke, in broken accents : — " Unhappy man !
Do you share my madness ? Have you drank also of the
intoxicating draught? Hear me, — let me reveal my tale,
and you will dash the cup from your lips ! "

Such words, you may imagine, strongly excited my cu-
riosity; but the paroxysm of grief that had seized the
stranger overcame his weakened powers, and many hours of
repose and tranquil conversation were necessary to restore
his composure.

Having conquered the violence of his feelings, he appeared
to despise himself for being the slave of passion ; and
quelling the dark tyranny of despair, he led me again to
converse concerning myself personally. He asked me the
history of my earlier years. The tale was quickly told :

1 6 FRANKENSTEIN j OR,

but it awakened various trains of reflection. I spoke of my
desire of finding a friend — of my thirst for a more intimate
sympathy with a fellow mind than had ever fallen to my
lot ; and expressed my conviction that a man could boast
of little happiness, who did not enjoy this blessing.

" I agree with you/' replied the stranger ; " we are
unfashioned creatures, but half made up, if one wiser, better,
dearer than ourselves — such a friend ought to be — do not
lend his aid to perfectionate our weak and faulty natures.
I once had a friend, the most noble of human creatures,
and am entitled, therefore, to judge respecting friendship.
You have hope, and the world before you, and have no
cause for despair. But I — I have lost every thing, and
cannot begin life anew."

As he said this, his countenance became expressive of a
calm settled grief, that touched me to the heart. But he
was silent, and presently retired to his cabin.

Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more
deeply than he does the beauties of nature. The starry
sky, the sea, and every sight afforded by these wonderful
regions, seems still to have the power of elevating his soul
from earth. Such a man has a double existence : he may
suffer misery, and be overwhelmed by disappointments ;
yet, when he has retired into himself, he will be like a
celestial spirit, that has a halo around him, within whose
circle no grief or folly ventures.

Will you smile at the enthusiasm I express concerning
this divine wanderer ? You would not, if you saw him.
You have been tutored and refined by books and retirement
from the world, and you are, therefore, somewhat fastidious ;
but this only renders you the more fit to appreciate the
extraordinary merits of this wonderful man. Sometimes I
have endeavoured to discover what quality it is which he
possesses, that elevates him so immeasurably above any
other person I ever knew. I believe it to be an intuitive
discernment ; a quick but never- failing power of judg-
ment ; a penetration into the causes of things, unequalled
for clearness and precision ; add to this a facility of ex-
pression, and a voice whose varied intonations are soul-sub-
duing music.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 17

August 19. 17 — . :

Yesterday the stranger said to me, " You may easily
perceive, Captain Walton, that I have suffered great and
unparalleled misfortunes. I had determined, at one time,
that the memory of these evils should die with me ; but
you have won me to alter my determination. You seek
for knowledge and wisdom, as I once did ; and I ardently
hope that the gratification of your wishes may not be a
serpent to sting you, as mine has been. I do not know
that the relation of my disasters will be useful to you ; yet,
when I reflect that you are pursuing the same course, ex-
posing yourself to the same dangers which have rendered
me what I am, I imagine that you may deduce an apt moral
from my tale ; one that may direct you if you succeed in
your undertaking, and console you in case of failure. Pre-
pare to hear of occurrences which are usually deemed mar-
vellous. Were we among the tamer scenes of nature, I
might fear to encounter your unbelief, perhaps your ridicule;
but many things wiU appear possible in these wild and
mysterious regions, which would provoke the laughter of
those unacquainted with the ever- varied powers of nature :
— nor can I doubt but that my tale conveys in its series
internal evidence of the truth of the events of which it is
composed."

You may easily imagine that I was much gratified by the
offered communication ; yet I could not endure that he
should renew his grief by a recital of his misfortunes. I
felt the greatest eagerness to hear the promised narrative,
partly from curiosity, and partly from a strong desire to
ameliorate his fate, if it were in my power. I expressed
these feelings in my answer.

" T thank you," he replied, " for your sympathy, but
it'is useless; my fate is nearly fulfilled. I wait but for
one event, and then I shall repose in peace. I understand
your feeling," continued he, perceiving that I wished to
interrupt him ; " but you are mistaken, my friend, if thus
you will allow me to name you ; nothing can alter my des-
tiny : listen to my history, and you will perceive how
irrevocably it is determined."
c

18

FRANKENSTEIN ! OB,

He then told me, that he would commence his narrative
the next day when I should be at leisure. This promise
drew from me the warmest thanks. I have resolved every
night, when I am not imperatively occupied by my duties,
to record, as nearly as possible in his own words, what he
has related during the day. If I should be engaged, I will
at least make notes. This manuscript will doubtless afford
you the greatest pleasure : but to me, who know him, and
who hear it from his own lips, with what interest and
sympathy shall I read it in some future day ! Even now,
as I commence my task, his full-toned voice swells in my
ears ; his lustrous eyes dwell on me with all their melan-
choly sweetness ; I see his thin hand raised in animation,
while the lineaments of his face are irradiated by the soul
within. Strange and harrowing must be his story ; frightful
the storm which embraced the gallant vessel on its course,
and wrecked it — thus !

CHAPTER I.

I AM by birth a Genevese ; and my family is one of the
most distinguished of that republic. My ancestors had
been for many years counsellors and syndics ; and my father
had filled several public situations with honour and repu-
tation. He was respected by all who knew him, for his
integrity and indefatigable attention to public business. He
passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the affairs
of his country ; a variety of circumstances had prevented
his marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that
he became a husband and the father of a family.

As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his cha-
racter, I cannot refrain from relating them. One of his
most intimate friends was a merchant, who, from a flou-
rishing state, fell, through numerous mischances, into po-
verty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a
proud and unbending disposition, and could not bear to
live in poverty and oblivion in the same country where he
had formerly been distinguished for his rank and magni-

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 1Q

ficence. Having paid his debts, therefore, in the most
honourable manner, he retreated with his daughter to the
town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in wretched-
ness. My father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship,
and was deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate
circumstances. He bitterly deplored the false pride which
led his friend to a conduct so little worthy of the affection
that united them. He lost no time in endeavouring to seek
him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin the
world again through his credit and assistance.

Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself;
and it was ten months before my father discovered his
abode. Overjoyed at this discovery, he hastened to the
house, which was situated in a mean street, near the Reuss.
But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed
him. Beaufort had saved but a very small sum of money
from the wreck of his fortunes; but it was sufficient to
provide him with sustenance for some months, and in the
mean time he hoped to procure some respectable employ-
ment in a merchant's house. The interval was, consequently,
spent in inaction ; his grief only became more deep and
rankling, when he had leisure for reflection ; and at length
it took so fast hold of his mind, that at the end of three
months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any ex-
ertion.

His daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness ;
but she saw with despair that their little fund was rapidly
decreasing, and that there was no other prospect of support.
But Caroline Beaufort possessed a mind of an uncommon
mould ; and her courage rose to support her in her ad-
versity. She procured plain work ; she plaited straw ; and
by various means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely suf-
ficient to support life.

Several months passed in this manner. Her father grew
worse ; her time was more entirely occupied in attending
him ; her means of subsistence decreased ; and in the tenth
month her father died in her arms, leaving her an orphan
and a beggar. This last blow overcame her ; and she knelt
by Beaufort's coffin, weeping bitterly, when my father en-
tered the chamber. He came like a protecting spirit to the
c 2

20 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

poor girl, who committed herself to his care ; and after the
interment of his friend, he conducted her to Geneva, and
placed her under the protection of a relation. Two years
after this event Caroline became his wife.

There was a considerable difference between the ages of
my parents, but this circumstance seemed to unite them only
closer in bonds of devoted affection. There was a sense of
justice in my father's upright mind, which rendered it
necessary that he should approve highly to love strongly.
Perhaps during former years he had suffered from the late-
discovered unworthiness of one beloved, and so was dis-
posed to set a greater value on tried worth. There was a
show of gratitude and worship in his attachment to my
mother, differing wholly from the doating fondness of age,
for it was inspired by reverence for her virtues, and a
desire to be the means of, in some degree, recompensing
her for the sorrows she had endured, but which gave in-
expressible grace to his behaviour to her. Every thing
was made to yield to her wishes and her convenience. He
strove to shelter her, as a fair exotic is sheltered by the
gardener, from every rougher wind, and to surround her
with all that could tend to excite pleasurable emotion in
her soft and benevolent mind. Her health, and even the
tranquillity of her hitherto constant spirit, had been shaken
by what she had gone through. During the two years that
had elapsed previous to their marriage my father had
gradually relinquished all his public functions; and imme-
diately after their union they sought the pleasant climate
of Italy, and the change of scene and interest attendant on
a tour through that land of wonders, as a restorative for her
weakened frame.

From Italy they visited Germany and France. I, their
eldest child, was born at Naples, and as an infant accom-
panied them in their rambles. I remained for several years
their only child. Much as they were attached to each
other, they seemed to draw inexhaustible stores of affection
from a very mine of love to bestow them upon me. My
mother's tender caresses, and my father's smile of benevolent
pleasure while regarding me, are my first recollections. I
was their plaything and their idol, and something better—

THE 3IODERN PROMETHEUS. 21

their child, the innocent and helpless creature hestowed on
them by Heaven,, whom to bring up to good,, and whose
future lot it was in their hands to direct to happiness or
misery, according as they fulfilled their duties towards me.
With this deep consciousness of what they owed towards
the being to which they had given life, added to the active
spirit of tenderness that animated both, it may be imagined
that while during every hour of my infant life I received a
lesson of patience, of charity, and of self-control, I was so
guided by a silken cord, that all seemed but one train of
enjoyment to me.

For a long time I was their only care. My mother had
much desired to have a daughter, but I continued their
single offspring. When I was about five years old, while
making an excursion beyond the frontiers of Italy, they
passed a week on the shores of the Lake of Como. Their
benevolent disposition often made them enter the cottages
of the poor. This, to my mother, was more than a duty ;
it was a necessity, a passion, — remembering what she had
suffered, and how she had been relieved, — for her to act in
her turn the guardian angel to the afflicted. During one
of their walks a poor cot in the foldings of a vale attracted
their notice, as being singularly disconsolate, while the
number of half-clothed children gathered about it, spoke of
penury in its worst shape. One day, when my father had
gone by himself to Milan, my mother, accompanied by me,
visited this abode. She found a peasant and his wife,
hard working, bent down by care and labour, distributing
a scanty meal to five hungry babes. Among these there
was one which attracted my mother far above all the* rest.
She appeared of a different stock. The four others were
dark-eyed, hardy little vagrants ; this child was thin, and
very fair. Her hair was the brightest living gold, and,
despite the poverty of her clothing, seemed to set a crown
of distinction on her head. Her brow was clear and
ample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips and the mould-
ing of her face so expressive of sensibility and sweetness,
that none could behold her without looking on her as of a
distinct species, a being heaven-sent, and bearing a celestial
stamp in all her features.

c 3

22 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

The peasant woman,, perceiving that my mother fixed
eyes of wonder and admiration on this lovely girl., eagerly
communicated her history. She was not her child, but the
daughter of a Milanese nobleman. Her mother was a
German, and had died on giving her birth. The infant
had been placed with these good people to nurse : they
were better off then. They had not been long married,,
and their eldest child was but just born. The father of
their charge was one of those Italians nursed in the me-
mory of the antique glory of Italy, — one among the schiavi
ognor frementi, who exerted himself to obtain the liberty
of his country. He became the victim of its weakness.
Whether he had died, or still lingered in the dungeons of
Austria, was not known. His property was confiscated, his
child became an orphan and a beggar. She continued with
her foster parents, and bloomed in their rude abode, fairer
than a garden rose among dark-leaved brambles.

When my father returned from Milan, he found playing
with me in the hall of our villa, a child fairer than pictured
cherub — a creature who seemed to shed radiance from her
looks, and whose form and motions were lighter than the
chamois of the hills. The apparition was soon explained.
With his permission my mother prevailed on her rustic
guardians to yield their charge to her. They were fond of
the sweet orphan. Her presence had seemed a blessing to
them j but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty and
want, when Providence afforded her such powerful protec-
tion. They consulted their village priest, and the result
was, that Elizabeth Lavenza became the inmate of my
parents' house — my more than sister — the beautiful and
adored companion of all my occupations and my pleasures.

Every one loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost
reverential attachment with which all regarded her became,
while I shared it, my pride and my delight. On the evening
previous to her being brought to my home, my mother had
said playfully, — " I have a pretty present for my Victor-
to-morrow he shall have it." And when, on the morrow,
she presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with
childish seriousness, interpreted her words literally, and
looked upon Elizabeth as mine — mine to protect, love, and

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 23

cherish. All praises bestowed on her, I received as made
to a possession of my own. We called each other fami-
liarly by the name of cousin. No word, no expression
could body forth the kind of relation in which she stood to
me — my more than sister,, since till death she was to be
mine only.

CHAPTER II.

WE were brought up together ; there was not quite a year
difference in our ages. I need not say that we were
strangers to any species of disunion or dispute. Harmony
was the soul of our companionship, and the diversity and con-
trast that subsisted in our characters drew us nearer toge-
ther. Elizabeth was of a calmer and more concentrated dis-
position; but, with all my ardour, I was capable of a more
intense application, and was more deeply smitten with the
thirst for knowledge. She busied herself with following
the aerial creations of the poets ; and in the majestic
wondrous scenes which surrounded our Swiss home -£{
sublime shapes of the mountains ; the changes of the sea-
sons; tempest and calm; the silence of winter, and the life
and turbulence of our Alpine summers,— she found ample
scope for admiration and delight. While my companion
contemplated with a serious and satisfied spirit the mag-
nificent appearances of things, I delighted in investigating
their causes. The world was to me a secret which I de-
sired to divine. Curiosity, earnest research to learn the
hidden laws of nature, gladness akin to rapture, as they
were unfolded to me, are among the earliest sensations I
can remember.

On the birth of a second son, my junior by seven years,
my parents gave up entirely their wandering life, and fixed
themselves in their native country. We possessed a house
in Geneva, and a campagne on Belrive, the eastern shore
of the lake, at the distance of rather more than a league
from the city. We resided principally in the latter, and

24 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

the lives of my parents were passed in considerable seclu-
sion. It was my temper to avoid a crowd,, and to attach
myself fervently to a few. I was indifferent, therefore., to
my schoolfellows in general ; but I united myself in the
bonds of the closest friendship to one among them. Henry
Clerval was the son of a merchant of Geneva. He was a
boy of singular talent and fancy. He loved enterprise,
hardship, and even danger, for its own sake. He was
deeply read in books of chivalry and romance. He com-
posed heroic songs, and began to write many a tale of
enchantment and knightly adventure. He tried to make
us act plays, and to enter into masquerades, in which the
characters were drawn from the heroes of Roncesvalles, of
the Round Table of King Arthur, and the chivalrous train
who shed their blood to redeem the holy sepulchre from
the hands of the infidels.

No human being could have passed a happier childhood
than myself. My parents were possessed by the very spirit
of kindness and indulgence. We felt that they were not
the tyrants to rule our lot according to their caprice, but
the agents and creators of all the many delights which we
er/]-oyed. When I mingled with other families, I distinctly
discerned how peculiarly fortunate my lot was, and grati-
tude assisted the developement of filial love.
- My temper was sometimes violent, and my passions ve-
hement ; but by some law in my temperature they were
turned, not towards childish pursuits, but to an eager de-
sire to learn, and not to learn all things indiscriminately.
I confess that neither the structure of languages, nor the
code of governments, nor the politics of various states,
possessed attractions for me. It was the secrets of heaven
and earth that I desired to learn ; and whether it was the
outward substance of things, or the inner spirit of nature
and the mysterious soul of man that occupied me, still my
enquiries were directed to the metaphysical, or, in its high-
est sense, the physical secrets of the world.

Meanwhile Clerval occupied himself, so to speak, with
the moral relations of things. The busy stage of life, the
virtues of heroes, and the actions of men, were his theme ;
and his hope and his dream was to become one among those

THE MODERN PR031ETHEUS. 25

whose names are recorded in story, as the gallant and ad-
venturous benefactors of our species. The saintly soul of
Elizabeth shone like a shrine-dedicated lamp in our peace-
ful home. Her sympathy was ours ; her smile, her soft
voice, the sweet glance of her celestial eyes, were ever there
to bless and animate us. She was the living spirit of love
to soften and attract : I might have become sullen in my
study, rough through the ardour of my nature, but that she
was there to subdue me to a semblance of her own gentle-
ness. And Clerval — could aught ill entrench on the noble
spirit of Clerval? — yet he might not have been so per-
fectly humane, so thoughtful in his generosity — so full of
kindness and tenderness amidst his passion for adventurous
exploit, had she not unfolded to him the real loveliness of
beneficence, and made the doing good the end and aim of
his soaring ambition.

I feel exquisite pleasure in dwelling on the recollections
of childhood, before misfortune had tainted 'my mind, and
changed its bright visions of extensive usefulness into
gloomy and narrow reflections upon self. Besides, in
drawing the picture of my early days, I also record those
events which led, by insensible steps, to my after tale of
misery : for when I would account to myself for the birth
of that passion, which afterwards ruled my destiny, I find
it arise, like a mountain river, from ignoble and almost
forgotten sources ; but, swelling as it proceeded, it be-
came the torrent which, in its course, has swept away all
my hopes and joys.

Natural philosophy is the genius that has regulated my
fate j I desire, therefore, in this narration, to state those
facts which led to my predilection for that science. When
I was thirteen years of age, we all went on a party of
pleasure to the baths near Thonon : the inclemency of the
weather obliged us to remain a day confined to the inn.
In this house I chanced to find a volume of the works of
Cornelius Agrippa. I opened it with apathy ; the theory
which he attempts to demonstrate, and the wonderful facts
which he relates, soon changed this feeling into enthusiasm.
A new light seemed to dawn upon my mind ; and, bound-
ing with joy, I communicated my discovery to my father.

xiO FRANKEXSTEIN ; OR,

My father looked carelessly at the titlepage of my book,
and said, ' ' Ah ! Cornelius Agrippa ! My dear Victor, do
not waste your time upon this ; it is sad trash."

If, instead of this remark, my father had taken the
pains to explain to me, that the principles of Agrippa had
been entirely exploded, and that a modern system of science
had been introduced, which possessed much greater powers
than the ancient, because the powers of the latter were chi-
merical, while those of the former were real and practical ;
under such circumstances, I should certainly have thrown
Agrippa aside, and have contented my imagination, warmed
as it was, by returning with greater ardour to my former
studies. It is even possible, that the train of my ideas
would never have received the fatal impulse that led to
my ruin. But the cursory glance my father had taken of
my volume by no means assured me that he was acquainted
with its contents ; and I continued to read with the greatest
avidity.

When I returned home, my first care was to procure the
whole works of this author, and afterwards of Paracelsus
and Albertus Magnus. I read and studied the wild fancies
of these writers with delight ; they appeared to me trea-
sures known to few beside myself. I have described my-
self as always having been embued with a fervent longing
to penetrate the secrets of nature. In spite of the intense
labour and wonderful discoveries of modern philosophers,
I always came from my studies discontented and unsatis-
fied. Sir Isaac Newton is said to have avowed that he felt
like a child picking up shells beside the great and unex-
plored ocean of truth. Those of his successors in each
branch of natural philosophy with whom I was acquainted,
appeared even to my boy's apprehensions, as tyros engaged
in the same pursuit.

The untaught peasant beheld the elements around him,
and was acquainted with their practical uses. The most
learned philosopher knew little more. He had partially
unveiled the face of Nature, but her immortal lineaments
were still a wonder and a mystery. He might dissect,
anatomise, and give names ; but, not to speak of a final
cause, causes in their secondary and tertiary grades were

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 2?

utterly unknown to him. I had gazed upon the fortifica-
tions and impediments that seemed to keep human beings
from entering the citadel of nature, and rashly and igno-
rantly I had repined.

But here were books, and here were men who had pene-
trated deeper and knew more. I took their word for all that
they averred, and I became their disciple. It may appear
strange that such should arise in the eighteenth century ;
but while I followed the routine of education in the schools
of Geneva, I was, to a great degree, self taught with regard
to my favourite studies. My father was not scientific, and
I was left to struggle with a child's blindness, added to a
student's thirst for knowledge. Under the guidance of my
new preceptors, I entered with the greatest diligence into
the search of the philosopher's stone and the elixir of life;
but the latter soon obtained my undivided attention.
Wealth was an inferior object ; but what glory wrould at-
tend the discovery, if I could banish disease from the
human frame, and render man invulnerable to any but a
violent death !

Nor were these my only visions. The raising of ghosts
or devils was a promise liberally accorded by my favourite
authors, the fulfilment of which I most eagerly sought; and
if my incantations were always unsuccessful, I attributed the
failure rather to my own inexperience and mistake, than to
a want of skill or fidelity in my instructors. And thus for
a time I was occupied by exploded systems, mingling, like
an unadept, a thousand contradictory theories, and ^floun-
dering desperately in a very slough of multifarious know-
ledge, guided by an ardent imagination and childish reason-
ing, till an accident again changed the current of my ideas.

When I was about fifteen years old we had retired to our
house near Belrive, when we witnessed a most violent and
terrible thunder-storm. It advanced from behind the
mountains of Jura; and the thunder burst at once with
frightful loudness from various quarters of the heavens. I
remained, while the storm lasted, watching its progress
with curiosity and delight. As I stood at the door, on a
sudden I beheld a stream of fire issue from an old and
beautiful oak, which stood about twenty yards from our

28 FRANKENSTEIN ; OR,

house ; and so soon as the dazzling light vanished, the oak
had disappeared, and nothing remained hut a blasted
stump. When we visited it the next morning, we found the
tree shattered in a singular manner. It was not splintered
by the shock, but entirely reduced to thin ribands of wood.
I never beheld any thing so utterly destroyed.

Before this I was not unacquainted with the more ob-
vious laws of electricity. On this occasion a man of great
research in natural philosophy was with us, and, excited by
this catastrophe, he entered on the explanation of a theory
which he had formed on the subject of electricity and gal-
vanism, which was at once new and astonishing to me. All
that he said threw greatly into the shade Cornelius Agrippa,
Albertus Magnus, and Paracelsus, the lords of my imagin-
ation ; but by some fatality the overthrow of these men
disinclined me to pursue my accustomed studies. It
seemed to me as if nothing would or could ever be known.
All that had so long engaged my attention suddenly grew
despicable. By one of those caprices of the mind, which
we are perhaps most subject to in early youth, I at once
gave up my former occupations ; set down natural history
and all its progeny as a deformed and abortive creation ;
and entertained the greatest disdain for a would-be science,
which could never even step within the threshold of real
knowledge. In this mood of mind I betook myself to the
mathematics, and the branches of study appertaining to
that science, as being built upon secure foundations, and so
worthy of my consideration.

Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by such
slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity or ruin. When
I look back, it seems to me as if this almost miraculous
change of inclination and will was the immediate sug-
gestion of the guardian angel of my life — the last effort
made by the spirit of preservation to avert the storm that
was even then hanging in the stars, and ready to envelope
me. Her victory was announced by an unusual tranquil-
lity and gladness of soul, which followed the relinquishing
of my ancient and latterly tormenting studies. It was thus
that I was to be taught to associate evil with their prose-
cution, happiness with their disregard.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 29

It was a strong effort of the spirit of good ; but it was
ineffectual. Destiny was too potent, and her immutable
laws had decreed my utter and terrible destruction.

CHAPTER III.

I had attained the age of seventeen, my parents re-
solved that I should become a student at the university of
Ingolstadt. I had hitherto attended the schools of Ge-
neva ; but my father thought it necessary, for the comple-
tion of my education, that I should be made acquainted
with other customs than those of my native country. My
departure was therefore fixed at an early date j but, before
the day resolved upon could arrive, the first misfortune of
my life occurred — an omen, as it were, of my future
misery.

Elizabeth had caught the scarlet fever ; her illness was
severe, and she was in the greatest danger. During her
illness, many arguments had been urged to persuade my
mother to refrain from attending upon her. She had, at
first, yielded to our entreaties ; but when she heard that the
life of her favourite was menaced, she could no longer con-
trol her anxiety. She attended her sick bed, — her watch-
ful attentions triumphed over the malignity of the dis-
temper,— Elizabeth was saved, but the consequences of
this imprudence were fatal to her preserver. On the third
day my mother sickened ; her fever was accompanied
by the most alarming symptoms, and the looks of her
medical attendants prognosticated the worst event. On
her death-bed the fortitude and benignity of this best of
women did not desert her. She joined the hands of Eliza-
beth and myself : — " My children," she said, " my firmest
hopes of future happiness were placed on the prospect of
your union. This expectation will now be the consolation
of your father. Elizabeth, my love, you must supply my
place to my younger children. Alas ! I regret that I am
taken from you ; and, happy and beloved as I have been,

SO FRANKENSTEIN j OR,

is it not hard to quit you all ? But these are not thoughts
befitting me ; I will endeavour to resign myself cheerfully
to death, and will indulge a hope of meeting you in another
world."

She died calmly ; and her countenance expressed affec-
tion even in death. I need not describe the feelings of
those whose dearest ties are rent by that most irreparable
evil; the void that presents itself to the soul; and the
tlespair that is exhibited on the countenance. It is so long
before the mind can persuade itself that she, whom we saw
every day, and whose very existence appeared a part of our
own, can have departed for ever — that the brightness of a
beloved eye can have been extinguished, and the sound of
a voice so familiar, and clear to the ear, can be hushed,
never more to be heard. These are the reflections of the
first days ; but when the lapse of time proves the reality of
the evil,, then the actual bitterness of grief commences. Yet
from whom has not that rude hand rent away some dear
connection ? and why should I describe a sorrow which all
have felt, and must feel? The time at length arrives,
when grief is rather an indulgence than a necessity ; and
the smile that plays upon the lips, although it may be
deemed a sacrilege, is not banished. My mother was dead,
but we had still duties which we ought to perform ; we
must continue our course with the rest, and learn to think
ourselves fortunate, whilst one remains whom the spoiler
has not seized.

My departure for Ingolstadt, which had been deferred
by these events, was now again determined upon. I ob-
tained from my father a respite of some weeks. It appeared
to me sacrilege so soon to leave the repose, akin to death,
of the house of mourning, and to rush into the thick of
life. I was new to sorrow, but it did not the less alarm
me. I was unwilling to quit the sight of those that
remained to me j and, above all, I desired to see my sweet
Elizabeth in some degree consoled.

She indeed veiled her grief, and strove to act the com-
forter to us all. She looked steadily on life, and assumed
its duties with courage and zeal. She devoted herself to
those whom she had been taught to call her uncle and

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 31

cousins. Never was she so enchanting as at this time,
when she recalled the sunshine of her smiles and spent
them upon us. She forgot even her own regret in her
endeavours to make us forget.

The day of my departure at length arrived. Clerval
spent the last evening with us. He had endeavoured to
persuade his father to permit him to accompany me., and to
become my fellow student ; but in vain. His father was a
narrow-minded trader, and saw idleness and ruin in the
aspirations and ambition of his son. Henry deeply felt the
misfortune of being debarred from a liberal education. He
said little; but when he spoke, I read in his kindling eye
and in his animated glance a restrained but firm resolve,
not to be chained to the miserable details of commerce.

We sat late. We could not tear ourselves away from
each other, nor persuade ourselves to say the wx>rd ff Fare-
well ! " It was said ; and we retired under the pretence
of seeking repose, each fancying that the other was de-
ceived : but when at morning's dawn I descended to the
carriage which was to convey me away, they were all there
— my father again to bless me, Clerval to press my hand
once more, my Elizabeth to renew her entreaties that I
would write often, and to bestow the last feminine attentions
on her playmate and friend.

it, I threw myself into the chaise that was to convey me
away, and indulged in the most melancholy reflections. I,
who had ever been surrounded by amiable companions,
continually engaged in endeavouring to bestow mutual plea-
sure, I was now alone. In the university, whither I was
going, I must form my own friends, and be my own pro-
tector. My life had hitherto been remarkably secluded
and domestic ; and this had given me invincible repugnance
to new countenances. I loved my brothers, Elizabeth, and
Clerval ; these were " old familiar faces ; " but I believed
myself totally unfitted for the company of strangers. Such
were my reflections as 1 commenced my journey ; but as
I proceeded, my spirits and hopes rose. I ardently desired
the acquisition of knowledge. I had often, when at home,
thought it hard to remain during my youth cooped up in
one place, and had longed to enter the world,, and take my

32 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

station among other human heings. Now my desires were
complied with, and it would, indeed, have been folly to
repent.

I had sufficient leisure for these and many other reflec-
tions during my journey to Ingolstadt, which was long
and fatiguing. At length the high white steeple of the
town met my eyes. I alighted, and was conducted to my
solitary apartment, to spend the evening as I pleased.

The next morning I delivered my letters of introduction,
and paid a visit to some of the principal professors. Chance
— or rather the evil influence, the Angel of Destruction,
which asserted omnipotent sway over me from the moment
I turned my reluctant steps from my father's door — led
me first to Mr. Krempe, professor of natural philosophy.
He was an uncouth man, but deeply embued in the secrets
of his science. He asked me several questions concerning
my progress in the different branches of science appertain-
ing to natural philosophy. I replied carelessly ; and, partly
in contempt, mentioned the names of my alchymists as the
principal authors I had studied. The professor stared :
" Have you," he said, " really spent your time in studying
such nonsense ? "

I replied in the affirmative. " Every minute," continued
M. Krempe with warmth, " every instant that you have
wasted on those books is utterly and entirely lost. You
have burdened your memory with exploded systems and
useless names. Good God ! in what desert land have you
lived, where no one was kind enough to inform you that
these fancies, which you have so greedily imbibed, are a
thousand years old, and as musty as they are ancient ? I
little expected, in this enlightened and scientific age, to find
a disciple of Albertus Magnus and Paracelsus. My dear
sir, you must begin your studies entirely anew."

So saying, he stept aside, and wrote down a list of several
books treating of natural philosophy, which he desired me
to procure j and dismissed me, after mentioning that in the
beginning of the following week he intended to commence
a course of lectures upon natural philosophy in its general
relations, and that M. Waldman, a fellow-professor, would
lecture upon chemistry the alternate days that he omitted.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. S3

I returned home,, not disappointed, for I have said that
I had long considered those authors useless whom the pro-
fessor reprobated ; but I returned, not at all the more in-
clined to recur to these studies in any shape. M. Krempe
was a little squat man, with a gruff voice and a repulsive
countenance ; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me
in favour of his pursuits. In rather a too philosophical
and connected a strain, perhaps, I have given an account
of the conclusions I had come to concerning them in my
early years. As a child, I had not been content with the
results promised by the modern professors of natural science.
With a confusion of ideas only to be accounted for by my
extreme youth, and my want of a guide on such matters,
I had retrod the steps of knowledge along the paths of time,
and exchanged the discoveries of recent enquirers for the
dreams of forgotten alchymists. Besides, I had a contempt
for the uses of modern natural philosophy. It was very
different, when the masters of the science sought immor-
tality and power ; such views, although futile, were grand :
but now the scene was changed. The ambition of the
enquirer seemed to limit itself to the annihilation of those
visions on which my interest in science was chiefly founded,
I was required to exchange chimeras of boundless grandeur
for realities of little worth.

Such were my reflections during the first two or three
days of my residence at Ingolstadt, which were chiefly
spent in becoming acquainted with the localities, and the
principal residents in my new abode. But as the ensuing
week commenced, I thought of the information which
M. Krempe had given me concerning the lectures. And
although I could not consent to go and hear that little
conceited fellow deliver sentences out of a pulpit, I recol-
lected what he had said of M. Waldman, whom I had never
seen, as he had hitherto been out of town.

Partly from curiosity, and partly from idleness, I went
into the lecturing room, which M. Waldman entered shortly
after. This professor was very unlike his colleague. He
appeared about fifty years of age, but with an aspect ex-
pressive of the greatest benevolence j a few grey hairs co-
vered his temples, but those at the back of his head were

D

34 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

nearly black. His person was short, but remarkably erect ;
and his voice the sweetest I had ever heard. He began his
lecture by a recapitulation of the history of chemistry, and
the various improvements made by different men of learn-
ing, pronouncing with fervour the names of the most dis-
tinguished discoverers. He then took a cursory view of
the present state of the science, and explained many of its
elementary terms. After having made a few preparatory
experiments, he concluded with a panegyric upon modern
chemistry, the terms of which I shall never forget : —

" The ancient teachers of this science," said he, " pro-
mised impossibilities, and performed nothing. The mo-
dern masters promise very little ; they know that metals
cannot be transmuted, and that the elixir of life is a
chimera. But these philosophers, whose hands seem only
made to dabble in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the mi-
croscope or crucible, have indeed performed miracles. They
penetrate into the recesses of nature, and show how she
works in her hiding places. They ascend into the heavens:
they have discovered how the blood circulates, and the
nature of the air we breathe. They have acquired new
and almost unlimited powers ; they can command the
thunders of heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even mock
the invisible world with its own shadows."

Such were the professor's words — rather let me say such
the words of fate, enounced to destroy me. As he went on, I
felt as if my soul were grappling with a palpable enemy ;
one by one the various keys were touched which formed
the mechanism of my being : chord after chord was
sounded, and soon my mind was filled with one thought,
one conception, one purpose. So much has been done,
exclaimed the soul of Frankenstein, — more, far more, will I
achieve : treading in the steps already marked, I will
pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and unfold to
the world the deepest mysteries of creation.

I closed not my eyes that night. My internal being
was in a state of insurrection and turmoil ; I felt that order
would thence arise, but I had no power to produce it. By
degrees, after the morning's dawn, sleep came. I awoke,
and my yesternight's thoughts were as a dream. There only

i :

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 35

remained a resolution to return to my ancient studies, and
to devote myself to a science for which I believed myself
to possess a natural talent. On the same day, I paid M.
Waldman a visit. His manners in private were even more
mild and attractive than in public ; for there was a certain
dignity in his mien during his lecture, which in his own
house was replaced by the greatest affability and kindness.
I gave him pretty nearly the same account of my former
pursuits as I had given to his fellow-professor. He heard
with attention the little narration concerning my studies,
and smiled at the names of Cornelius Agrippa and Para-
celsus, but without the contempt that M. Krempe had ex-
hibited. He said, that ' ' these were men to whose inde-
fatigable zeal modern philosophers were indebted for most
of the foundations of their knowledge. They had left to
us, as an easier task, to give new names, and arrange in
connected classifications, the facts which they in a great
degree had been the instruments of bringing to light. The
labours of men of genius, however erroneously directed,
scarcely ever fail in ultimately turning to the solid advan-
tage of mankind." I listened to his statement, which was
delivered without any presumption or affectation j and
then added, that his lecture had removed my prejudices
against modern chemists ; I expressed myself in measured
terms, with the modesty and deference due from a youth
to his instructor, without letting escape (inexperience in
life would have made me ashamed) any of the enthusiasm
which stimulated my intended labours. I requested his
advice concerning the books I ought to procure.

" I am happy/' said M. Waldman, " to have gained a
disciple ; and if your application equals your ability, I have
no doubt of your success. Chemistry is that branch of
natural philosophy in which the greatest improvements have
been and may be made : it is on that account that I have
made it my peculiar study ; but at the same time I have
not neglected the other branches of science. A man would
make but a very sorry chemist if he attended to that de-i
partment of human knowledge alone. If your wish is to
become really a man of science, and not merely a petty ex-
D 2

86 FRANKENSTEIN; OB,

perimentalist, I should advise you to apply to every branch
of natural philosophy, including mathematics."

He then took me into his laboratory, and explained to
me the uses of his various machines ; instructing me as to
what I ought to procure, and promisingwne the use of his
own when I should have advanced far enough in the science
not to derange their mechanism. He also gave me the
list of books which I had requested; and I took my
leave.

Thus ended a day memorable to me: it decided my
future destiny.

CHAPTER IV.

FROM this day natural philosophy, and particularly che-
mistry, in the most comprehensive sense of the term,
became nearly my sole occupation. I read with ardour
those works, so full of genius and discrimination, which
modern enquirers have written on these subjects. I at-
tended the lectures, and cultivated the acquaintance, of
the men of science of the university ; and I found even in
M. Krempe a great deal of sound sense and real inform-
ation, combined, it is true, with a repulsive physiognomy
and manners, but not on that account the less valuable. In
M. Waldman I found a true friend. His gentleness was
never tinged by dogmatism ; and his instructions were
given with an air of frankness and good nature, that
banished every idea of pedantry. In a thousand ways he
smoothed for me the path of knowledge, and made the most
abstruse enquiries clear and facile to my apprehension.
My application was at first fluctuating and uncertain ; it
gained strength as I proceeded, and soon became so ardent
and eager, that the stars often disappeared in the light of
morning whilst I was yet engaged in my laboratory.

As I applied so closely, it may be easily conceived that
my progress was rapid. My ardour was indeed the asto-
nishment of the students, and my proficiency that of the

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 37

masters. Professor Krempe often asked me, with a sly
smile, how Cornelius Agrippa went on ? whilst M. Wald-
man expressed the most heartfelt exultation in my progress.
Two years passed in this manner, during which I paid no
visit to Geneva, but was engaged, heart and soul, in the
pursuit of some discoveries, which I hoped to make. None
but those who have experienced them can conceive of the
enticements of science. In other studies you go as far as
others have gone before you, and there is nothing more to
know j but in a scientific pursuit there is continual food
for discovery and wonder. A mind of moderate capacity,
which closely pursues one study, must infallibly arrive at
great proficiency in that study; and I, who continually
sought the attainment of one object of pursuit, and was
solely wrapt up in this, improved so rapidly, that, at the
end of two years, I made some discoveries in the improve-
ment of some chemical instruments, which procured me
great esteem and admiration at the university. When I
had arrived at this point, and had become as well acquainted
with the theory and practice of natural philosophy as de-
pended on the lessons of any of the professors at Ingolstadt,
my residence there being no longer conducive to my im-
provements, I thought of returning to my friends and my
native town, when an incident happened that protracted
ray stay.

One of the phenomena which had peculiarly attracted
my attention was the structure of the human frame, and,
indeed, any animal endued with life. Whence, I often
asked myself, did the principle of life proceed ? It was a
bold question, and one which has ever been considered as a
mystery ; yet with how many things are we upon the brink
of becoming acquainted, if cowardice or carelessness did
not restrain our enquiries. I revolved these circumstances
in my mind, and determined thenceforth to apply myself
more particularly to those branches of natural philosophy
which relate to physiology. Unless I had been animated
by an almost supernatural enthusiasm, my application
to this study would have been irksome, Jand almost in-
tolerable. To examine the causes of life, we must first
have recourse to death. I became acquainted with the
D 3

38 FRANKENSTEIN ; OB,

science of anatomy : but this was not sufficient j I must
also observe the natural decay and corruption of the human
body. In my education my father had taken the greatest
precautions that my mind should be impressed with no
supernatural horrors. I do not ever remember to have
trembled at a tale of superstition, or to have feared the
apparition of a spirit. Darkness had no effect upon my
fancy ; and a churchyard was to me merely the receptacle
of bodies deprived of life, which, from being the seat of
beauty and strength,, had become food for the worm. Now
I was led to examine the cause and progress of this decay,
and forced to spend days and nights in vaults and charnel-
houses. My attention was fixed upon every object the
most insupportable to the delicacy of the human feelings.
I saw how the fine form of man was degraded and wasted;
I beheld the corruption of death succeed to the blooming
cheek of life ; I saw how the worm inherited the wonders
of the eye and brain. I paused, examining and analysing
all the minutiae of causation, as exemplified in the change
from life to death, and death to life, until from the midst
of this darkness a sudden light broke in upon me — a light
so brilliant and wondrous, yet so simple, that while I be-
came dizzy with the immensity of the prospect which it
illustrated, I was surprised, that among so many men of
genius who had directed their enquiries towards the same
science, that I alone should be reserved to discover so aston-
ishing a secret.

Remember, I am not recording the vision of a madman.
The sun does not more certainly shine in the heavens, than
that which I now affirm is true. Some miracle might have
produced it, yet the stages of the discovery were distinct
and probable. After days and nights of incredible labour
and fatigue, I succeeded in discovering the cause of gener-
ation and life ; nay, more, I became myself capable of be-
stowing animation upon lifeless matter.

The astonishment which I had at first experienced on
this discovery soon gave place to delight and rapture.
After so much time spent in painful labour, to arrive at
once at the summit of my desires, was the most gratifying
consummation of my toils. But this discovery was so

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 39

great and overwhelming, that all the steps by which I had
been progressively led to it were obliterated,, and I beheld
only the result. What had been the study and desire of
the wisest men since the creation of the world was now
within my grasp. Not that, like a magic scene, it all
opened upon me at once : the information I had obtained
was of a nature rather to direct my endeavours so soon as
I should point them towards the object of my search, than
to exhibit that object already accomplished. I was like the
Arabian who had been buried with the dead, and found a
passage to life, aided only by one glimmering, and seem-
ingly ineffectual, light.

I see by your eagerness, and the wonder and hope which
your eyes express, my friend, that you expect to be in-
formed of the secret with which I am acquainted ; that
cannot be : listen patiently until the end of my story, and
you will easily perceive why I am reserved upon that sub-
ject. I will not lead you on, unguarded and ardent as I
then was, to your destruction and infallible misery. Learn
from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example,
how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge, and how
much happier that man is who believes his native town to
be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than
his nature will allow.

When I found so astonishing a power placed within my
hands, I hesitated a long time concerning the manner in
which I should employ it. Although I possessed the ca-
pacity of bestowing animation, yet to prepare a frame for
the reception of it, with all its intricacies of fibres, muscles^
and veins, still remained a work of inconceivable difficulty
and labour. I doubted at first whether I should attempt
the creation of a being like myself, or one of simpler organ-
ization ; but my imagination was too much exalted by my
first success to permit me to doubt of my ability to give life
to an animal as complex and wonderful as man. The
materials at present within my command hardly appeared
adequate to so arduous an undertaking ; but I doubted not
that I should ultimately succeed. I prepared myself for a
multitude of reverses ; my operations might be incessantly
baffled, and at last my work be imperfect: yet, when I
D 4

40 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

considered the improvement which every day takes place in
science and mechanics, I was encouraged to hope my pre-
sent attempts would at least lay the foundations of future
success. Nor could I consider the magnitude and com-
plexity of my plan as any argument of its impracticability,
It was with these feelings that I began the creation of a
human being. As the minuteness of the parts formed a
great hinderance to my speed, I resolved,, contrary to my
first intention, to make the being of a gigantic stature; that
is to say, about eight feet in height, and proportionably
large. After having formed this determination, and having
spent some months in successfully collecting and arranging
my materials, I began.

No one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore
me onwards, like a hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of
success. Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds,
which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of
light into our dark world. A new species would bless me
as its creator and source ; many happy and excellent na-
tures would owe their being to me. No father could claim
the gratitude of his child so completely as I should deserve
theirs. Pursuing these reflections, J thought, that if I
could bestow animation upon lifeless matter, I might in
process of time (although I now found it impossible) re-
new life where death had apparently devoted the body to
corruption.

These thoughts supported my spirits, while I pursued
my undertaking with unremitting ardour. My cheek had
grown pale with study, and my person had become ema-
ciated with confinement. Sometimes, on the very brink of
certainty, I failed ; yet still I clung to the hope which the
next day or the next hour might realise. One secret which
I alone possessed was the hope to which I had dedicated
myself; and the moon gazed on my midnight labours,
while, with unrelaxed and breathless eagerness, I pursued
nature to her hiding-places. Who shall conceive the horrors
of my secret toil, as I dabbled among the unhallowed damps
of the grave, or tortured the living animal to animate the
lifeless clay ? My limbs now tremble, and my eyes swim
with the remembrance ; but then a resistless, and almost

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 41

frantic, impulse, urged me forward ; I seemed to have lost
all soul or sensation but for this one pursuit. It was indeed
but a passing trance, that only made me feel with renewed
acuteness so soon as, the unnatural stimulus ceasing to
operate, I had returned to my old habits. I collected bones
from charnel-houses ; and disturbed, with profane fingers,
the tremendous secrets of the human frame. In a solitary
chamber, or rather cell, at the top of the house, and separ-
ated from all the other apartments by a gallery and stair-
case, I kept my workshop of filthy creation : my eye-balls
were starting from their sockets in attending to the details
of my employment. The dissecting room and the slaughter-
house furnished many of my materials ; and often did my
human nature turn with loathing from my occupation,
whilst, still urged on by an eagerness which perpetually
increased, I brought my work near to a conclusion.

The summer months passed while I was thus engaged,
heart and soul, in one pursuit. It was a most beautiful
season ; never did the fields bestow a more plentiful harvest,
or the vines yield a more luxuriant vintage : but my eyes
were insensible to the charms of nature. And the same
feelingsx which made me neglect the scenes around me
caused me also to forget those friends who were so many
miles absent, and whom I had not seen for so long a time.
I knew my silence disquieted them; and I well remembered
the words of my father : f ' I know that while you are pleased
with yourself, you will think of us with affection, and we
shall hear regularly from you. You must pardon me if I
regard any interruption in your correspondence as a proof
that your other duties are equally neglected."

I knew well therefore what would be my father's feel-
ings ; but I could not tear my thoughts from my employ-
ment, loathsome in itself, but which had taken an irre-
sistible hold of my imagination. I wished, as it were, to
procrastinate all that related to my feelings of affection until
the great object, which swallowed up every habit of my
nature, should be completed.

I then thought that my father would be unjust if he
ascribed my neglect to vice, or faultiness on my part ; but I
am now convinced that he was justified in conceiving that

42 FRANKENSTEIN ,' OK,

I should not be altogether free from blame. A human
being in perfection ought always to preserve a calm and
peaceful mind, and never to allow passion or a transitory
desire to disturb his tranquillity. I do not think that the
pursuit of knowledge is an exception to this rule. If the
study to which you apply yourself has a tendency to weaken
your affections, and to destroy your taste for those simple
pleasures in which no alloy can possibly mix, then that
study is certainly unlawful, that is to say, not befitting the
human mind. If this rule were always observed; if no
man allowed any pursuit whatsoever to interfere with the
tranquillity of his domestic affections, Greece had not been
enslaved ; Caesar would have spared his country; America
would have been discovered more gradually; and the em-
pires of Mexico and Peru had not been destroyed.

But I forget that I am moralising in the most interesting
part of my tale ; and your looks remind me to proceed.

My father made no reproach in his letters, and only took
notice of my silence by enquiring into my occupations
more particularly than before. Winter, spring, and summer
passed away during my labours ; but I did not watch the
blossom or the expanding leaves — sights which before
always yielded me supreme delight — so deeply was I en-
grossed in my occupation. The leaves of that year had
withered before my work drew near to a close ; and now
every day showed me more plainly how well I had suc-
ceeded. But my enthusiasm was checked by my anxiety,
and I appeared rather like one doomed by slavery to toil in
the mines, or any other unwholesome trade, than an artist
occupied by his favourite employment. Every night I was
oppressed by a slow fever, and I became nervous to a most
painful degree ; the fall of a leaf startled me, and I shunned
my fellow- creatures as if I had been guilty of a crime.
Sometimes I grew alarmed at the wreck I perceived that I
had become ; the energy of my purpose alone sustained me:
my labours would soon end, and I believed that exercise and
amusement would then drive away incipient disease ; and I
promised myself both of these when my creation should be
complete.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 43

CHAPTER V.

IT was on a dreary night of November, that I beheld the
accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost
amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life
around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the
lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in
the morning ; the rain pattered dismally against the panes,
and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer
of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye
of the creature open ; it breathed hard, and a convulsive
motion agitated its limbs.

How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or
how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains
and care I had endeavoured to form ? His limbs were in
proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful.
Beautiful ! — Great God ! His yellow skin scarcely covered
the work of muscles and arteries beneath ; his hair was of
a lustrous black, and flowing ; his teeth of a pearly white-
ness ; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid
contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the
same colour as the dun white sockets in which they were
set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.

The different accidents of life are not so changeable as
the feelings of human nature. I had worked hard for
nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into
an inanimate body. For this I had deprived myself of rest
and health. I had desired it with an ardour that far ex-
ceeded moderation ; but now that I had finished, the beauty
of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust
filled my heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being
I had created, I rushed out of the room, and continued a
long time traversing my bedchamber, unable to compose my
mind to sleep. At length lassitude succeeded to the tumult
I had before endured ; and I threw myself on the bed in
my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forget-
fulness. But it was in vain : I slept, indeed, but I was
disturbed by the wildest dreams. I thought I saw Eliza-
beth, in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of

44 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

Ingolstadt. Delighted and surprised, I embraced her ; but
as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid
with the hue of death ; her features appeared to change,
and I thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother in
my arms ; a shroud enveloped her form, and I saw the
grave- worms crawling in the folds of the flannel. I started
from my sleep with horror ; a cold dew covered my fore-
head, my teeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed :
when, by the dim and yellow light of the moon, as it
forced its way through the window shutters, I beheld the
wretch — the miserable monster whom I had created. He
held up the curtain of the bed ; and his eyes, if eyes they
may be called, were fixed on me. His jaws opened, and
he muttered some inarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled
his cheeks. He might have spoken, but I did not hear ; one
hand was stretched out, seemingly to detain me, but I
escaped, and rushed down stairs. I took refuge in the court-
yard belonging to the house which I inhabited ; where J
remained during the rest of the night, walking up and
down in the greatest agitation, listening attentively, catch-
ing and fearing each sound as if it were to announce the
approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I had so
miserably given life.

Oh ! no mortal could support the horror of that counte-
nance. A mummy again endued with animation could not
be so hideous as that wretch. I had gazed on him while
unfinished ; he was ugly then ; but when those muscles and
joints were rendered capable of motion, it became a thing
such as even Dante could not have conceived.

I passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse
beat so quickly and hardly, that I felt the palpitation of
every artery; at others, I nearly sank to the ground
through languor and extreme weakness. Mingled with this
horror, I felt the bitterness of disappointment ; dreams that
had been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space
were now become a hell to me ; and the change was so
rapid, the overthrow so complete !

Morning, dismal and wet, at length dawned, and dis-
covered to my sleepless and aching eyes the church of In-
golstadt, its white steeple and clock, which indicated the

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 45

sixth hour. The porter opened the gates of the court, which
had that night been my asylum, and I issued into the
streets, pacing them with quick steps, as if I sought to
avoid the wretch whom I feared every turning of the street
would present to my view. I did not dare return to the
apartment which I inhabited, but felt impelled to hurry on,
although drenched by the rain which poured from a black
and comfortless sky.

I continued walking in this manner for some time, en-
deavouring, by bodily exercise, to ease the load that weighed
upon my mind. I traversed the streets, without any clear
conception of where I was, or what I was doing. My
heart palpitated in the sickness of fear ; and I hurried on
with irregular steps, not daring to look about me : —

" Like one who, on a lonely road,

Doth walk in fear and dread,
And, having once turned round, walks on,

And turns no more his head ;
Because he knows a frightful fiend

Doth close behind him tread."*

Continuing thus, I came at length opposite to the inn at
which the various diligences and carriages usually stopped.
Here I paused, I knew not why; but I remained some minutes
with my eyes fixed on a coach that was coming towards me
from the other end of the street. As it drew nearer, I ob-
served that it was the Swiss diligence : it stopped just where
I was standing; and, on the door being opened, I perceived
Henry Clerval, who, on seeing me, instantly sprung out.
" My dear Frankenstein," exclaimed he, " how glad I am
to see you ! how fortunate that you should be here at the
very moment of my alighting !"

Nothing could equal my delight on seeing Clerval ; his
presence brought back to my thoughts my father, Eliza-
beth, and all those scenes of home so dear to my recollec-
tion. I grasped his hand, and in a moment forgot my
horror and misfortune ; I felt suddenly, and for the first
time during many months, calm and serene joy. I wel-
comed my friend, therefore, in the most cordial manner,
and we walked towards my college. Clerval continued
talking for some time about our mutual friends, and his own

» Coleridge's " Ancient Mariner."

46 FRANKENSTEIN; OB,

good fortune in being permitted to come to Ingolstadt. c ' You
may easily believe," said he, (( how great was the diffi-
culty to persuade my father that all necessary knowledge
was not comprised in the noble art of book-keeping ; and,
indeed, I believe I left him incredulous to the last, for his
constant answer to my unwearied entreaties was the same
as that of the Dutch schoolmaster in the Vicar of Wake-
field : — ' I have ten thousand florins a year without
Greek, I eat heartily without Greek/ But his affection
for me at length overcame his dislike of learning, and he
has permitted me to undertake a voyage of discovery to the
land of knowledge."

" It gives me the greatest delight to see you ; but tell
me how you left my father, brothers, and Elizabeth."

" Very well, and very happy, only a little uneasy that
they hear from you so seldom. By the by, I mean to
lecture you a little upon their account myself. — But, my
dear Frankenstein," continued he, stopping short, and gazing
full in my face, f( I did not before remark how very ill you
appear ; so thin and pale ; you look as if you had been
watching for several nights."

" You have guessed right ; I have lately been so deeply
engaged in one occupation, that I have not allowed myself
sufficient rest, as you see : but I hope, I sincerely hope,
that all these employments are now at an end, and that I
am at length free."

I trembled excessively ; I could not endure to think of,
and far less to allude to, the occurrences of the preceding
night. I walked with a quick pace, and we soon arrived
at my college. I then reflected, and the thought made me
shiver, that the creature whom I had left in my apartment
might still be there, alive, and walking about. I dreaded
to behold this monster ; but I feared still more that Henry
should see him. Entreating him, therefore, to remain a
few minutes at the bottom of the stairs, I darted up towards
my own room. My hand was already on the lock of the
door before I recollected myself. I then paused ; and a
cold shivering came over me. I threw the door forcibly
Open, as children are accustomed to do when they expect a
spectre to stand in waiting for them on the other side; but

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 47

nothing appeared. I stepped fearfully in : the apartment
was empty ; and my bed-room was also freed from its
hideous guest. I could hardly believe that so great a good
fortune could have befallen me ; but when I became assured
that my enemy had indeed fled, I clapped my hands for
joy, and ran down to Clerval.

We ascended into my room, and the servant presently
brought breakfast; but I was unable to contain myself. It
was not joy only that possessed me ; I felt my flesh tingle
with excess of sensitiveness, and my pulse beat rapidly. I
was unable to remain for a single instant in the same place;
I jumped over the chairs, clapped my hands, and laughed
aloud. Clerval at first attributed my unusual spirits to joy
on his arrival ; but when he observed me more attentively,
he saw a wildness in my eyes for which he could not ac-
count; and my loud, unrestrained, heartless laughter, fright-
ened and astonished him.

" My dear Victor," cried he, (c what, for God's sake, is
the matter ? Do not laugh in that manner. How ill you
are ! What is the cause of all this ? "

" Do not ask me," cried I, putting my hands before my
eyes, for I thought I saw the dreaded spectre glide into the
room ; " he can tell. — Oh, save me ! save me !" I ima-
gined that the monster seized me ; I struggled furiously,
and fell down in a fit.

Poor Clerval ! what must have been his feelings ? A
meeting, which he anticipated with such joy, so strangely
turned to bitterness. But I was not the witness of his
grief ; for I was lifeless, and did not recover my senses for
a long, long time.

This was the commencement of a nervous fever, which
confined me for several months. During all that time
Henry was my only nurse. I afterwards learned that,
knowing my father's advanced age, and unfitness for so
long a journey, and how wretched my sickness would make
Elizabeth, he spared them this grief by concealing the ex-
tent of my disorder. He knew that I could not have a
more kind and attentive nurse than himself; and, firm in
the hope he felt of my recovery, he did not doubt that,
instead of doing harm, he performed the kindest action that
he could towards them.

48 FRANKENSTEIN j OR,

But I was in reality very ill ; and surely nothing but the
unbounded and unremitting attentions of my friend could
have restored me to life. The form of the monster on
whom I had bestowed existence was for ever before my eyes,
and I raved incessantly concerning him. Doubtless my
words surprised Henry : he at first believed them to be the
wanderings of my disturbed imagination ; but the pertina-
city with which I continually recurred to the same subject,
persuaded him that my disorder indeed owed its origin to
some uncommon and terrible event.

By very slow degrees, and with frequent relapses, that
alarmed and grieved my friend, I recovered. I remember
the first time I became capable of observing outward objects
with any kind of pleasure, I perceived that the fallen leaves
had disappeared, and that the young buds were shooting
forth from the trees that shaded my window. It was a
divine spring ; and the season contributed greatly to my
convalescence. I felt also sentiments of joy and affection
revive in my bosom ; my gloom disappeared, and in a short
time I became as cheerful as before I was attacked by the
fatal passion.

{f Dearest Clerval," exclaimed I, " how kind, how very
good you are to me. This whole winter, instead of being
spent in study, as you promised yourself, has been con-
sumed in my sick room. How shall I ever repay you ? I
feel the greatest remorse for the disappointment of which I
have been the occasion ; but you will forgive me."

" You will repay me entirely, if you do not discompose
yourself, but get well as fast as you can j and since you
appear in such good spirits, I may speak to you on one
subject, may I not?"

I trembled. One subject ! what could it be ? Could he
allude to an object on whom I dared not even think ?

" Compose yourself," said Clerval, who observed my
change of colour, " I will not mention it, if it agitates you;
but your father and cousin would be very happy if they
received a letter from you in your own hand-writing.
They hardly know how ill you have been, and are uneasy
at your long silence."
i, " Is that all, my dear Henry ? How could you suppose

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 49

that my first thought would not fly towards those dear,
dear friends whom I love,, and who are so deserving of my
love."

' ' If this is your present temper, my friend, you will per-
haps be glad to see a letter that has been lying here some
days for you : it is from your cousin, I believe."

CHAPTER VI.

CLERVAL then put the following letter into my hands. It
was from my own Elizabeth : —

Ci My dearest Cousin,

" You have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters
of dear kind Henry are not sufficient to reassure me on your
account. You are forbidden to write — to hold a pen ; yet
one word from you, dear Victor, is necessary to calm our
apprehensions. For a long time I have thought that each
post would bring this line, and my persuasions have
restrained my uncle from undertaking a journey to Ingol-
stadt. I have prevented his encountering the inconveni-
ences and perhaps dangers of so long a journey ; yet how
often have I regretted not being able to perform it myself!
I figure to myself that the task of attending on your sick
bed has devolved on some mercenary old nurse, who could
never guess your wishes, nor minister to them with the
care and affection of your poor cousin. Yet that is over
now : Clerval writes that indeed you are getting better. I
eagerly hope that you will confirm this intelligence soon in
your own handwriting.

" Get well — and return to us. You will find a happy,
cheerful home, and friends who love you dearly. Your
father's health is vigorous, and he asks but to see you, — -
but to be assured that you are well ; and not a care will
ever cloud his benevolent countenance. How pleased you
would be to remark the improvement of our Ernest ! He
is now sixteen, and full of activity and spirit. He is de-
sirous to be a true Swiss, and to enter into foreign service ;

50 FRANKENSTEIN ; OB,

but we cannot part with him, at least until his elder bro-
ther return to us. My uncle is not pleased with the idea
of a military career in a distant country ; but Ernest never
had your powers of application. He looks upon study as
an odious fetter; — his time is spent in the open air, climb-
ing the hills or rowing on the lake. I fear that he will be-
come an idler, unless we yield the point, and permit him to
enter on the profession which he has selected.

' ( Little alteration, except the growth of our dear chil-
dren, has taken place since you left us. The blue lake, and
snow-clad mountains, they never change; — and I think
our placid home, and our contented hearts are regulated by
the same immutable laws. My trifling occupations take up
my time and amuse me, and I am rewarded for any exer-
tions by seeing none but happy, kind faces around me.
Since you left us, but one change has taken place in our
little household. Do you remember on what occasion Jus-
tine Moritz entered our family ? Probably you do not ; I
will relate her history, therefore, in a few words. Madame
Moritz, her mother, was a widow with four children, of
whom Justine was the third. This girl had always been
the favourite of her father ; but, through a strange per-
versity, her mother could not endure her, and, after the
death of M. Moritz, treated her very ill. My aunt observed
this ; and, when Justine was twelve years of age, prevailed
on her mother to allow her to live at our house. The
republican institutions of our country have produced
simpler and happier manners than those which prevail in
the great monarchies that surround it. Hence there is less
distinction between the several classes of its inhabitants ;
and the lower orders, being neither so poor nor so despised,
their manners are more refined and moral. A servant in
Geneva does not mean the same thing as a servant in France
and England. Justine, thus received in our family, learned
the duties of a servant; a condition which, in our for-
tunate country, does not include the idea of ignorance,
and a sacrifice of the dignity of a human being.

" Justine, you may remember, was a great favourite of
yours ; and I recollect you once remarked, that if you were
in an ill-humour, one glance from Justine could dissipate

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 51

it, for the same reason that Ariosto gives concerning the
beauty of Angelica — she looked so frank-hearted and happy.
My aunt conceived a great attachment for her, hy which she
was induced to give her an education superior to that
which she had at first intended. This benefit was fully
repaid ; Justine was the most grateful little creature in the
world : I do not mean that she made any professions ; I
never heard one pass her lips ; but you could see by her
eyes that she almost adored her protectress. Although her
disposition was gay, and in many respects inconsiderate,
yet she paid the greatest attention to every gesture of my
aunt. She thought her the model of all excellence, and
endeavoured to imitate her phraseology and manners, so
that even now she often reminds me of her.

" When my dearest aunt died, every one was too much
occupied in their own grief to notice poor Justine, who had
attended her during her illness with the most anxious affec-
tion. Poor Justine was very ill ; but other trials were re-
served for her.

" One by one, her brothers and sister died ; and her
mother, with the exception of her neglected daughter, was
left childless. The conscience of the woman was troubled ;
she began to think that the deaths of her favourites was a
judgment from heaven to chastise her partiality. She was
a Roman catholic ; and I believe her confessor confirmed
the idea which she had conceived. Accordingly, a few
months after your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine was
called home by her repentant mother. Poor girl ! she wept
when she quitted our house j she was much altered since
the death of my aunt ; grief had given softness and a win-
ning mildness to her manners, which had before been re-
markable for vivacity. Nor was her residence at her
mother's house of a nature to restore her gaiety. The
poor woman was very vacillating in her repentance. She
sometimes begged Justine to forgive her unkindness, but
much oftener accused her of having caused the deaths of
her brothers and sister. Perpetual fretting at length threw
Madame Moritz into a decline, which at first increased her
irritability, but she is now at peace for ever. She died on
the first approach of cold weather, at the beginning of this

H 2

52 FRANKENSTEIN; OK,

last winter. Justine has returned to us ; and I assure you
I love her tenderly. She is very clever and gentle, and
extremely pretty ; as I mentioned before, her mien and
her expressions continually remind me of my dear aunt.

" I must say also a few words to you, my dear cousin,
of little darling William. I wish you could see him ; he is
very tall of his age, with sweet laughing hlue eyes, dark
eyelashes, and curling hair. When he smiles, two little
dimples appear on each cheek, which are rosy with health.
He has already had one or two little wives, but Louisa
Biron is his favourite, a pretty little girl of five years of
age.

" Now, dear Victor, I dare say you wish to be indulged
in a little gossip concerning the good people of Geneva.
The pretty Miss Mansfield has already received the con-
gratulatory visits on her approaching marriage with a
young Englishman,, John Melbourne, Esq. Her ugly
sister, Manon, married M. Duvillard, the rich banker, last
autumn. Your favourite schoolfellow, Louis Manoir, has
suffered several misfortunes since the departure of Clerval
from Geneva. But he has already recovered his spirits,
and is reported to be on the point of marrying a very lively
pretty Frenchwoman, Madame Tavernier. She is a widow,
and much older than Manoir ; but she is very much admired,
and a favourite with everybody.

<f I have written myself into better spirits, dear cousin ;
but my anxiety returns upon me as I conclude. Write,
dearest Victor, — one line — one word will be a blessing to
us. Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his kindness, his
affection, and his many letters : we are sincerely grateful.
Adieu! my cousin; take care of yourself ; and, I entreat you,
write !

" ELIZABETH LAVENZA.
"Geneva, March 18th, 17 — ."

" Dear, dear Elizabeth ! " I exclaimed, when I had read
her letter, " I will write instantly, and relieve them from
the anxiety they must feel." I wrote, and this exertion
greatly fatigued me ; but my convalescence had commenced,
and proceeded regularly. In another fortnight I was able
to leave my chamber.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 53

One of my first duties on my recovery was to introduce
Clerval to the several professors of the university. In doing
this, I underwent a kind of rough usage, ill befitting the
wounds that my mind had sustained. Ever since the fatal
night, the end of my labours, and the beginning of my
misfortunes, I had conceived a violent antipathy even to
the name of natural philosophy. When I was otherwise
quite restored to health, the sight of a chemical instrument
would renew all the agony of 'my nervous symptoms. Henry
saw this, and had removed all my apparatus from my view.
He had also changed my apartment ; for he perceived
that I had acquired a dislike for the room which had pre-
viously been my laboratory. But these cares of Clerval
were made of no avail when I visited the professors.
M. Waldman inflicted torture when he praised, with kind-
ness and warmth,, the astonishing progress I had made in
the sciences. He soon perceived that I disliked the sub-
ject ; but not guessing the real cause, he attributed my
feelings to modesty, and changed the subject from my im-
provement, to the science itself, with a desire, as I evidently
saw, of drawing me out. What could I do ? He meant to
please, and he tormented me. I felt as if he had placed
carefully, one by one, in my view those instruments which
were to be afterwards used in putting me to a slow and
cruel death. I writhed under his words, yet dared not
exhibit the pain I felt. Clerval, whose eyes and feelings
were always quick in discerning the sensations of others,
declined the subject, alleging, in excuse, his total ignorance;
and the conversation took a more general turn. I thanked
my friend from my heart, but I did not speak. I saw
plainly that he was surprised, but he never attempted to
draw my secret from me ; and although I loved him with
a mixture of affection and reverence that knew no bounds,
yet 1 could never persuade myself to confide to him that
event which was so often present to my recollection, but
which I feared the detail to another would only impress
more deeply.

M. Krempe was not equally docile ; and in my condition
at that time, of almost insupportable sensitiveness, his harsh
blunt encomiums gave me even more pain than the bene-
E 3

54? FRANKENSTEIN ; OK,

volent approbation of M. Waldman. " D — n the fellow I"
cried he ; " why, M. Clerval, I assure you he has outstript
us all. Ay, stare if you please ; but it is nevertheless true.
A youngster who, but a few years ago, believed in Corne-
lius Agrippa as firmly as in the gospel, has now set himself
at the head of the university ; and if he is not soon pulled
down, we shall all be out of countenance. — Ay, ay," con-
tinued he, observing my face expressive of suffering, " M.
Frankenstein is modest ; an excellent quality in a young
man. Young men should be diffident of themselves, you
know, M. Clerval : I was myself when young ; but that
wears out in a very short time."

M. Krempe had now commenced an eulogy on himself,
which happily turned the conversation from a subject that
was so annoying to me.

Clerval had never sympathised in my tastes for natural
science ; and his literary pursuits differed wholly from those
which had occupied me. He came to the university with
the design of making himself complete master of the oriental
languages, as thus he should open a field for the plan of life
he had marked out for himself. Resolved to pursue no
inglorious career, he turned his eyes toward the East, as
affording scope for his spirit of enterprise. The Persian,
Arabic, and Sanscrit languages engaged his attention, and
I was easily induced to enter on the same studies. Idleness
had ever been irksome to me, and now that I wished to fly
from reflection, and hated my former studies, I felt great-
relief in being the fellow-pupil with my friend, and found
not only instruction but consolation in the works of the
orientalists. I did not, like him, attempt a critical know-
ledge of their dialects, for I did not contemplate making
any other use of them than temporary amusement. I read
merely to understand their meaning, and they well repaid
my labours. Their melancholy is soothing, and their joy
elevating, to a degree I never experienced in studying the
authors of any other country. When you read their writ-
ings, life appears to consist in a warm sun and a garden of
roses, — in the smiles and frowns of a fair enemy, and the
fire that consumes your own heart. How different from
the manly and hejroical poetry of Greece and Rome !

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 55

Summer passed away in these occupations, and my re-
turn to Geneva was fixed for the latter end of autumn ;
but being delayed by several accidents, winter and snow
arrived, the roads were deemed impassable, and my journey
was retarded until the ensuing spring. I felt this delay
very bitterly; for I longed to see my native town and my
beloved friends. My return had only been delayed so long,
from an unwillingness to leave Clerval in a strange place,
before he had become acquainted with any of its inhabitants.
The winter, however, was spent cheerfully; and although
the spring was uncommonly late, when it came its beauty
compensated for its dilatoriness.

The month of May had already commenced, and I ex-
pected the letter daily which was to fix the date of my
departure, when Henry proposed a pedestrian tour in the
environs of Ingolstadt, that I might bid a personal farewell
to the country I had so long inhabited. I acceded with
pleasure to this proposition : I was fond of exercise, and
Clerval had always been my favourite companion in the
rambles of this nature that I had taken among the scenes
of my native country.

We passed a fortnight in these perambulations : my
health and spirits had long been restored, and they gained
additional strength from the salubrious air I breathed, the
natural incidents of our progress, and the conversation of
my friend. Study had before secluded me from the inter-
course of my fellow-creatures, and rendered me unsocial ;
but Clerval called forth the better feelings of my heart ; he
again taught me to love the aspect of nature, and the
cheerful faces of children. Excellent friend ! how sin-
cerely did you love me, and endeavour to elevate my mind
until it was on a level with your own ! A selfish pursuit
had cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness and
affection warmed and opened my senses ; I became the same
happy creature who, a few years ago, loved and beloved by
all, had no sorrow or care. When happy, inanimate
nature had the power of bestowing on me the most de-
lightful sensations. A serene sky and verdant fields filled
me with ecstasy. The present season was indeed divine ;
the flowers of spring bloomed in the hedges, while those
E 4

56 FRANKENSTEIN; OB,

of summer were already in bud. I was undisturbed by
thoughts which during the preceding year had pressed upon
me, notwithstanding my endeavours to throw them off,
with an invincible burden.

Henry rejoiced in my gaiety, and sincerely sympathised
in my feelings : he exerted himself to amuse me, while he
expressed the sensations that filled his soul. The resources
of his mind on this occasion were truly astonishing : his
conversation was full of imagination ; and very often, in
imitation of the Persian and Arabic writers, he invented
tales of wonderful fancy and passion. At other times he
repeated my favourite poems, or drew me out into argu-
ments, which he supported with great ingenuity.

We returned to our college on a Sunday afternoon : the
peasants were dancing, and every one we met appeared gay
and happy. My own spirits were high, and I bounded
along with feelings of unbridled joy and hilarity.

CHAPTER VII.

ON my return, I found the following letter from my
father : —

" My dear Victor,

ff You have probably waited impatiently for a letter to fix
the date of your return to us ; and I was at first tempted to
write only a few lines, merely mentioning the day on which
I should expect you. But that would be a cruel kindness,
and I dare not do it. What would be your surprise, my son,
when you expected a happy and glad welcome, to behold, on
the contrary, tears and wretchedness ? And how, Victor, can I
relate our misfortune ? Absence cannot have rendered you
callous to our joys and griefs ; and how shall I inflict pain
on my long absent son ? I wish to prepare you for the woful
news, but I know it is impossible; even now your eye
skims over the page, to seek the words which are to convey
to you the horrible tidings.

' ' William is dead ! — that sweet child, whose smiles de-

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 57

lighted and warmed my heart, who was so gentle, yet so
gay ! Victor, he is murdered !

" I will not attempt to console you ; but will simply
relate the circumstances of the transaction.

" Last Thursday (May 7th), I, my niece, and your two
brothers, went to walk in Plainpalais. The evening was
warm and serene, and we prolonged our walk farther than
usual. It was already dusk before we thought of returning;
and then we discovered that William and Ernest, who had
gone on before, were not to be found. We accordingly
rested on a seat until they should return. Presently Ernest
came, and enquired if we had seen his brother : he said,
that he had been playing with him, that William had run
away to hide himself, and that he vainly sought for him,
and afterwards waited for him a long time, but that he did
not return.

"This account rather alarmed us, and we continued
to search for him until night fell, when Elizabeth con-
jectured that he might have returned to the house. He
was not there. We returned again, with torches ; for I could
not rest, when I thought that my sweet boy had lost him-
self, and was exposed to all the damps and dews of night ;
Elizabeth also suffered extreme anguish. About five in the
morning I discovered my lovely boy, whom the night
before I had seen blooming and active in health, stretched
on the grass livid and motionless : the print of the mur-
derer's finger was on his neck.

" He was conveyed home, and the anguish that was
visible in my countenance betrayed the secret to Elizabeth.
She was very earnest to see the corpse. At first I attempted
to prevent her ; but she persisted, and entering the room
where it lay, hastily examined the neck of the victim, and
clasping her hands exclaimed, ' O God ! I have murdered
my darling child!'

" She fainted, and was restored with extreme difficulty.
When she again lived, it was only to weep and sigh. She
told me, that that same evening William had teased her to
let him wear a very valuable miniature that she possessed
of your mother. This picture is gone, and was doubtless
the temptation which urged the murderer to the deed. We

58 FRANKENSTEIN j OR,

have no trace of him at present, although our exertions to
discover him are unremitted ; but they will not restore my
beloved William !

" Come, dearest Victor j you alone can console Eliza-
beth. She weeps continually, and accuses herself unjustly
as the cause of his death ; her words pierce my heart. We
are all unhappy ; but will not that be an additional motive
for you, my son,, to return and be our comforter ? Your
dear mother ! Alas, Victor ! I now say, Thank God she
did not live to witness the cruel, miserable death of her
youngest darling !

" Come, Victor; not brooding thoughts of vengeance against
the assassin, but with feelings of peace and gentleness, that
will heal, instead of festering, the wounds of our minds.
Enter the house of mourning, my friend, but with kindness
and affection for those who love you, and not with hatred
for your enemies.

" Your affectionate and afflicted father,

" ALPHONSE FRANKENSTEIN.
" Geneva, May 12th, 17 — "

Clerval, who had watched my countenance as I read this
letter, was surprised to observe the despair that succeeded
to the joy I at first expressed on receiving news from my
friends. I threw the letter on the table, and covered my
face with my hands.

"My dear Frankenstein," exclaimed Henry, when he
perceived me weep with bitterness, " are you always to be
unhappy ? My dear friend, what has happened ? "

I motioned to him to take up the letter, while I walked
up and down the room in the extremest agitation. Tears
also gushed from the eyes of Clerval, as he read the account
of my misfortune.

<e I can offer you no consolation, my friend," said he ;
Cf your disaster is irreparable. What do you intend to

" To go instantly to Geneva : come with me, Henry, to
order the horses."

During our walk, Clerval endeavoured to say a few
words of consolation ; he could only express his heartfelt
sympathy. " Poor William !" said he, " dear lovely child,

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 59

he now sleeps with his angel mother ! Who that had seen him
hright and joyous in his young beauty, but must weep over
his untimely loss ! To die so miserably ; to feel the mur-
derer's grasp ! How much more a murderer, that could
destroy such radiant innocence ! Poor little fellow ! one
only consolation have we; his friends mourn and weep,
but he is at rest. The pang is over, his sufferings are at
an end for ever. A sod covers his gentle form, and he knows
no pain. He can no longer be a subject for pity ; we must
reserve that for his miserable survivors."

Clerval spoke thus as we hurried through the streets ;
the words impressed themselves on my mind, and I remem-
bered them afterwards in solitude. But now, as soon as
the horses arrived, I hurried into a cabriolet, and bade
farewell to my friend.

My journey was very melancholy. At first I wished
to hurry on, for I longed to console and sympathise with
my loved and sorrowing friends ; but when I drew near
my native town, I slackened my progress. I could hardly
sustain the multitude of feelings that crowded into my
mind. I passed through scenes familiar to my youth, but
which I had not seen for nearly six years. How altered
every thing might be during that time ! One sudden and
desolating change had taken place; but a thousand little
circumstances might have by degrees worked other alter-
ations, which, although they were done more tranquilly,
might not be the less decisive. Fear overcame me ; I
dared not advance, dreading a thousand nameless evils
that made me tremble, although I was unable to define
them.

I remained two days at Lausanne, in this painful state
of mind. I contemplated the lake : the waters were placid ;
all around was calm; and the snowy mountains, "the palaces
of nature," were not changed. By degrees the calm and
heavenly scene restored me, and I continued my journey
towards Geneva.

The road ran by the side of the lake, which became
narrower as I approached my native town. I discovered
more distinctly the black sides of Jura, and the bright
summit of Mont Blanc. I wept like a child. " Dear

FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

mountains ! my own beautiful lake ! how do you welcome
your wanderer ? Your summits are clear ; the sky and
lake are blue and placid. Is this to prognosticate peace, or
to mock at my unhappiness ? "

I fear, my friend, that I shall render myself tedious by
dwelling on these preliminary circumstances ; but they were
days of comparative happiness, and I think of them with
pleasure. My country, my beloved country ! who but a
native can. tell the delight I took in again beholding thy
streams, thy mountains, and, more than all, thy lovely lake !

Yet, as I drew nearer home, grief and fear again over-
came me. Night also closed around ; and when I could
hardly see the dark mountains, I felt still more gloomily.
The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of evil, and I
foresaw obscurely that I was destined to become the most
wretched of human beings. Alas ! I prophesied truly, and
failed only in one single circumstance, that in all the misery
I imagined and dreaded, I did not conceive the hundredth
part of the anguish I was destined to endure.

It was completely dark when I arrived in the environs
of Geneva ; the gates of the town were already shut ; and
I was obliged to pass the night at Secheron, a village at the
distance of half a league from the city. The sky was
serene ; and, as I was unable to rest, I resolved to visit the
spot where my poor William had been murdered. As I
could not pass through the town, I was obliged to cross the
lake in a boat to arrive at Plainpalais. During this short
voyage I saw the lightnings playing on the summit of Mont
Blanc in the most beautiful figures. The storm appeared
to approach rapidly ; and, on landing, I ascended a low
hill, that I might observe its progress. It advanced; the
heavens were clouded, and I soon felt the rain coming
slowly in large drops, but its violence quickly increased.

I quitted my seat, and walked on, although the darkness
and storm increased every minute, and the thunder burst
with a terrific crash over iny head. It was echoed from
Saleve, the Juras, and the Alps of Savoy ; vivid flashes of
lightning dazzled my eyes, illuminating the lake, making
it appear like a vast sheet of fire ; then for an instant every
thing seemed of a pitchy darkness, until the eye recovered

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 01

itself from the preceding flash. The storm, as is often the
case in Switzerland, appeared at once in various parts of
the heavens. The most violent storm hung exactly north
of the town, over that part of the lake which lies between
the promontory of Belrive and the village of Copet. Another
storm enlightened Jura with faint flashes ; and another
darkened and sometimes disclosed the Mole, a peaked
mountain to the east of the lake.

While I watched the tempest, so beautiful yet terrific, I
wandered on with a hasty step. This noble war in the
sky elevated my spirits ; I clasped my hands, and exclaimed
aloud, " William, dear angel ! this is thy funeral, this thy
dirge ! " As I said these words, I perceived in the gloom
a figure which stole from behind a clump of trees near me;
I stood fixed, gazing intently : I could not be mistaken.
A flash of lightning illuminated the object, and discovered
its shape plainly to me ; its gigantic stature, and the de-
formity of its aspect, more hideous than belongs to hu-
manity, instantly informed me that it was the wretch, the
filthy daemon, to whom I had given life. What did he
there ? Could he be (I shuddered at the conception) the
murderer of my brother ? No sooner did that idea cross
my imagination, than 1 became convinced of its truth j my
teeth chattered, and I was forced to lean against a tree for
support. The figure passed me quickly, and I lost it in
the gloom. Nothing in human shape could have destroyed
that fair child. He was the murderer ! I could not doubt
it. The mere presence of the idea was an irresistible proof
of the fact. I thought of pursuing the devil ; but it would
have been in vain, for another flash discovered him to me
hanging among the rocks of the nearly perpendicular as-
cent of Mont Saleve, a hill that bounds Plainpalais on the
south. He soon reached the summit, and disappeared.

I remained motionless. The thunder ceased j but the
rain still continued, and the scene was enveloped in an
impenetrable darkness. I revolved in my mind the events
which I had until now sought to forget : the whole train
of my progress towards the creation ; the appearance of the
work of my own hands alive at my bedside ; its departure.
Two years had now nearly elapsed since the night on which

62 FRANKENSTEIN J OB,

he first received life ; and was this his first crime ? Alas !
I had turned loose into the world a depraved wretch, whose
delight was in carnage and misery ; had he not murdered
my brother ?

No one can conceive the anguish I suffered during the
remainder of the night, which I spent, cold and wet, in the
open air. But I did not feel the inconvenience of the
weather ; my imagination was busy in scenes of evil and
despair. I considered the being whom I had cast among
mankind, and endowed with the will and power to effect
purposes of horror, such as the deed which he had now
done, nearly in the light of my own vampire, my own spirit
let loose from the grave, and forced to destroy all that was
dear to me.

Day dawned j and I directed my steps towards the town.
The gates were open, and I hastened to my father's house.
My first thought was to discover what I knew of the mur-
derer, and cause instant pursuit to be made. But I paused
when I reflected on the story that I had to tell. A being
whom I myself had formed, and endued with life, had met
me at midnight among the precipices of 'an inaccessible
mountain. I remembered also the nervous fever with which
I had been seized just at the time that I dated my creation,
and which would give an air of delirium to a tale other-
wise so utterly improbable. I well knew that if any other
had communicated such a relation to me, I should have
looked upon it as the ravings of insanity. Besides, the
strange nature of the animal would elude all pursuit, even
if I were so far credited as to persuade my relatives to
commence it. And then of what use would be pursuit ?
Who could arrest a creature capable of scaling the over-
hanging sides of Mont Saleve ? These reflections deter-
mined me, and I resolved to remain silent.

It was about five in the morning when I entered my
father's house. I told the servants not to disturb the family,
and went into the library to attend their usual hour of rising.

Six years had elapsed, passed as a dream but for one
indelible trace, and I stood in the same place where I had
last embraced my father before my departure for Ingolstadt.
Beloved and venerable parent ! He still remained to me.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 63

I gazed on the picture of my mother, which stood over the
mantel-piece. It was an historical subject, painted at my
father's desire,, and represented Caroline Beaufort in an
agony of despair, kneeling by the coffin of her dead father.
Her garb was rustic, and her cheek pale ; but there was
an air of dignity and beauty, that hardly permitted the
sentiment of pity. Below this picture was a miniature of
William ; and my tears flowed when I looked upon it.
While I was thus engaged, Ernest entered : he had heard
me arrive, and hastened to welcome me. He expressed a
sorrowful delight to see me : " Welcome, my dearest Vic-
tor," said he. " Ah ! I wish you had come three months
ago, and then you would have found us all joyous am
delighted. You come to us now to share a misery whi<
nothing can alleviate ; yet your presence will, I hope, revivL.
our father, who seems sinking under his misfortune ; and
your persuasions will induce poor Elizabeth to cease her
vain and tormenting self-accusations. — Poor William !
he was our darling and our pride ! "

Tears, unrestrained, fell from my brother's eyes ; a sense
of mortal agony crept over my frame. Before, I had only

agined the wretchedness of my desolated home ; the
ity came on me as a new, and a not less terrible, disaster.
I tried to calm Ernest ; I enquired more minutely con-
cerning my father, and her I named my cousin.

" She most of all," said Ernest, " requires consolation ;
she accused herself of having caused the death of my brother,
and that made her very wretched. But since the murderer
has been discovered — "

" The murderer discovered ! Good God ! how can that
be ? who could attempt to pursue him ? It is impossible ;
one might as well try to overtake the winds, or confine a
mountain-stream with a straw. I saw him too ; he was
free last night ! "

" I do not know what you mean," replied my brother,
in accents of wonder, " but to us the discovery we have
made completes our misery. No one would believe it at
first ; and even now Elizabeth will not be convinced, not-
withstanding all the evidence. Indeed, who would credit
that Justine Moritz , who was so amiable,, and fond of all

64 FRANKENSTEIN ; OB,

the family, could suddenly become capable of so frightful,
so appalling a crime ? "

' ' Justine Moritz ! Poor, poor girl, is she the accused ?
But it is wrongfully ; every one knows that ; no one be-
lieves it, surely, Ernest ? "

" No one did at first ; but several circumstances came
out, that have almost forced conviction upon us ; and her
own behaviour has been so confused, as to add to the evi-
dence of facts a weight that, I fear, leaves no hope for doubt.
But she will be tried to-day, and you will then hear all."

He related that, the morning on which the murder of
poor William had been discovered, Justine had been taken
ill, and confined to her bed for several days. During this
interval, one of the servants, happening to examine the
apparel she had worn on the night of the murder, had dis-
covered in her pocket the picture of my mother, which had
been judged to be the temptation of the murderer. The
servant instantly showed it to one of the others, who, with-
out saying a word to any of the family, went to a magis-
trate ; and, upon their deposition, Justine was apprehended.
On being charged with tjie fact, the poor girl confirmed
the suspicion in a great measure by her extreme confusion
of manner.

This was a strange tale, but it did not shake my faith ;
and I replied earnestly, " You are all mistaken ; I know
the murderer. Justine, poor, good Justine, is innocent."

At that instant my father entered. I saw unhappiness
deeply impressed on his countenance, but he endeavoured
to welcome me cheerfully ; and, after we had exchanged
our mournful greeting, would have introduced some other
topic than that of our disaster, had not Ernest exclaimed,
" Good God, papa ! Victor says that he knows who was
the murderer of poor William."

" We do also, unfortunately," replied my father ; " for
indeed I had rather have been for ever ignorant than have
discovered so much depravity and ingratitude in one I
valued so highly."

" My dear father, you are mistaken ; Justine is in-
nocent."

" If she is, God forbid that she should suffer as guilty.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS.

65

She is to be tried to-day, and I hope, I sincerely hope, that
she will be acquitted."

This speech calmed me. I was firmly convinced in my
own mind that Justine, and indeed every human being, was
guiltless of this murder. I had no fear, therefore, that any
circumstantial evidence could be brought forward strong
enough to convict her. My tale was not one to announce
publicly ; its astounding horror would be looked upon as
madness by the vulgar. Did any one indeed exist, except
I, the creator, who would believe, unless his senses con-
vinced him, in the existence of the living monument of
presumption and rash ignorance which I had let loose upon
the world ?

We were soon joined by Elizabeth. Time had altered
her since I last beheld her ; it had endowed her with love-
liness surpassing the beauty of her childish years. There
was the same candour, the same vivacity, but it was allied
to an expression more full of sensibility and intellect. She
welcomed me with the greatest affection. " Your arrival,
my dear cousin," said she, " fills me with hope. You per-
haps will find some means to justify my poor guiltless Jus-
tine. Alas ! who is safe, if she be convicted of crime ? I
rely on her innocence as certainly as I do upon my own
Our misfortune is doubly hard to us ; we have not only lost
that lovely darling boy, but this poor girl, whom I sincerely
love, is to be torn away by even a worse fate. If she is
condemned, I never shall know joy more. But she will
not, I am sure she will not ; and then I shall be happy
again, even after the sad death of my little William."

" She is innocent, my Elizabeth," said I, " and that
shall be proved ; fear nothing, but let your spirits be cheered
by the assurance of her acquittal."

" How kind and generous you are ! every one else be-
lieves in her guilt, and that made me wretched, for I knew
that it was impossible : and to see every one else prejudiced
in so deadly a manner rendered me hopeless and despair-
ing." She wept.

" Dearest niece," said my father, " dry your tears. If
she is, as you believe, innocent, rely on the justice of our
F

66 FRANKENSTEIN; OB,

laws., and the activity with which I shall prevent the
slightest shadow of partiality."

CHAPTER VIII.

WE passed a few sad hours, until eleven o'clock, when the
trial was to commence. My father and the rest of the
family heing obliged to attend as witnesses, I accompanied
them to the court. During the whole of this wretched
mockery of justice I suffered living torture. It was to he
decided, whether the result of my curiosity and lawless
devices would cause the death of two of my fellow-beings :
one a smiling babe, full of innocence and joy ; the other
far more dreadfully murdered, with every aggravation of
infamy that could make the murder memorable in horror.
Justine also was a girl of merit, and possessed qualities
which promised to render her life happy : now all was to
be obliterated in an ignominious grave ; and I the cause !
A thousand times rather would I have confessed myself
guilty of the crime ascribed to Justine ; but I was absent
when it was committed, and such a declaration would have
been considered as the ravings of a madman, and would not
have exculpated her who suffered through me.

The appearance of Justine was calm. She was dressed
in mourning ; and her countenance, always engaging, was
rendered, by the solemnity of her feelings, exquisitely
beautiful. Yet she appeared confident in innocence, and
did not tremble, although gazed on and execrated by thou-
sands ; for all the kindness which her beauty might other-
wise have excited, was obliterated in the minds of the
spectators by the imagination of the enormity she was
supposed to have committed. She was tranquil, yet her
tranquillity was evidently constrained; and as her con-
fusion had before been adduced as a proof of her guilt,
she worked up her mind to an appearance of courage.
When she entered the court, she threw her eyes round it,
and quickly discovered where we were seated. A tear

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS.

seemed to dim her eye when she saw us ; but she quickly
recovered herself, and a look of sorrowful affection seemed
to attest her utter guiltlessness.

The trial began ; and, after the advocate against her had
stated the charge, several witnesses were called. Several
strange facts combined against her, which might have
staggered any one who had not such proof of her inno-
cence as I had. She had been out the whole of the night
on which the murder had been committed, and towards
morning had been perceived by a market-woman not far
from the spot where the body of the murdered child had been,
afterwards found. The woman asked her what she Hid
there ; but she looked very strangely, and only returned a
confused and unintelligible answer. She returned to the
house about eight o'clock ; and, when one enquired where
she had passed the night, she replied that she had been
looking for the child, and demanded earnestly if any thing
had been heard concerning him. When shown the body,
she fell into violent hysterics, and kept her bed for several
days. The picture was then produced, which the servant
had found in her pocket ; and when Elizabeth, in a fal-
tering voice, proved that it was the same which, an
hour before the child had been missed, she had placed
round his neck, a murmur of horror and indignation filled
the court.

Justine was called on for her defence. As the trial had
proceeded, her countenance had altered. Surprise, horror,
and misery were strongly expressed. Sometimes she strug-
gled with her tears ; but, when she was desired to plead,
she collected her powers, and spoke, in an audible, although
variable voice.

" God knows/' she said, " how entirely I am innocent.
But I do not pretend that my protestations should acquit
me : I rest my innocence on a plain and simple explanation
of the facts which have been adduced against me ; and I
hope the character I have always borne will incline my
judges to a favourable interpretation, where any circum-
stance appears doubtful or suspicious."

She then related that, by the permission of Elizabeth,
she had passed the evening of the night on which the
F 2

68 FRANKENSTEIN; OB,

murder had been committed at the house of an aunt at
Chene, a village situated at about a league from Geneva.
On her return, at about nine o'clock, she met a man, who
asked her if she had seen any thing of the child who was
lost. She was alarmed by this account, and passed several
hours in looking for him, when the gates of Geneva were
shut, and she was forced to remain several hours of the
night in a barn belonging to a cottage, being unwilling to
call up the inhabitants, to whom she was well known. Most
of the night she spent here watching ; towards morning she
believed that slie slept for a few minutes ; some steps dis-
turbed her, and she awoke. It was dawn, and she quitted
her asylum, that she might again endeavour to find my
brother. If she had gone near the spot where his body
lay, it was without her knowledge. That she had been
bewildered when questioned by the market-woman was not
surprising, since she had passed a sleepless night, and the
fate of poor William was yet uncertain. Concerning the
picture she could give no account.

" I know," continued the unhappy victim, " how
heavily and fatally this one circumstance weighs against
me, but I have no power of explaining it; and when I
have expressed my utter ignorance, I am only left to con-
jecture concerning the probabilities by which it might have
been placed in my pocket. But here also I am checked.
I believe that I have no enemy on earth, and none surely
would have been so wicked as to destroy me wantonly. Did
the murderer place it there ? I know of no opportunity
afforded him for so doing ; or, if I had, why should he have
stolen the jewel, to part with it again so soon ?

" I commit my cause to the justice of my judges, yet I
see no room for hope. I beg permission to have a few wit-
nesses examined concerning my character; and if their
testimony shall not overweigh my supposed guilt, I must
be condemned, although I would pledge my salvation on
my innocence."

Several witnesses were called, who had known her for
many years, and they spoke well of her ; but fear, and
hatred of the crime of which they supposed her guilty,
rendered them timorous, and unwilling to come forward.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 69

Elizabeth saw even this last resource, her excellent dis-
positions and irreproachable conduct, about to fail the
accused,, when, although violently agitated, she desired per-
mission to address the court.

" I am," said she, " the cousin of the unhappy child
who was murdered, or rather his sister, for I was educated
by, and have lived with his parents ever since and even
long before, his birth. It may therefore be judged indecent
in me to come forward on this occasion ; but when I see a
fellow- creature about to perish through the cowardice of
her pretended friends, I wish to be allowed to speak, that
I may say what I know of her character. I am well ac-
quainted with the accused. I have lived in the same house
with her, at one time for five, and at another for nearly
two years. During all that period she appeared to me the
most amiable and benevolent of human creatures. She
nursed Madame Frankenstein, my aunt, in her last illness,
with the greatest affection and care; and afterwards at-
tended her own mother during a tedious illness, in a man-
ner that excited the admiration of all who knew her ; after
which she again lived in my uncle's house, where she was
beloved by all the family. She was warmly attached to the
child who is now dead, and acted towards him like a most
affectionate mother. For my own part, I do not hesitate
to say, that, notwithstanding all the evidence produced
against her, I believe and rely on her perfect innocence.
She had no temptation for such an action : as to the bauble
on which the chief proof rests, if she had earnestly desired
it, I should have willingly given it to her ; so much do I
esteem and value her."

A murmur of approbation followed Elizabeth's simple
and powerful appeal ; but it was excited by her generous
interference, and not in favour of poor Justine, on whom
the public indignation was turned with renewed violence,
charging her with the blackest ingratitude. She herself
wept as Elizabeth spoke, but she did not answer. My own
agitation and anguish was extreme during the \fhole trial.
I believed in her innocence ; I knew it. Could the daemon,
who had (I did not for a minute doubt) murdered my
brother, also in his hellish sport have betrayed the innocent
F 3

70 FRANKENSTEIN; on,

to death and ignominy? I could not sustain the horror of
my situation ; and when I perceived that the popular voice,
and the countenances of the judges, had already condemned
my unhappy victim, I rushed out of the court in agony.
The tortures of the accused did not equal mine ; she was
sustained by innocence, but the fangs of remorse tore my
bosom,, and would not forego their hold.

I passed a night of unmingled wretchedness. In the
morning I went to the court; my lips and throat were
parched. I dared not ask the fatal question ; but I was
known, and the officer guessed the cause of my visit. The
ballots had been thrown ; they were all black, and Justine
was condemned.

I cannot pretend to describe what I then felt. I had
before experienced sensations of horror ; and I have endea-
voured to bestow upon them adequate expressions, but words
cannot convey an idea of the heart-sickening despair that
I then endured. The person to whom I addressed myself
added, that Justine had already confessed her guilt. " That
evidence," he observed, " was hardly required in so glaring
a case, but I am glad of it; and, indeed, none of our
judges like to condemn a criminal upon circumstantial
evidence, be it ever so decisive."

This was strange and unexpected intelligence; what
could it mean ? Had my eyes deceived me ? and was I
really as mad as the whole world would believe me to be, if
I disclosed the object of my suspicions ? I hastened to re-
turn home, and Elizabeth eagerly demanded the result.

fc My cousin," replied I, " it is decided as you may
have expected; all judges had rather that ten innocent
should suffer, than that one guilty should escape. But she
has confessed."

This was a dire blow to poor Elizabeth, who had relied
with firmness upon Justine's innocence. " Alas !" said she,
' ' how shall I ever again believe in human goodness ?
Justine, whom I loved and esteemed as my sister, how
could she put on those smiles of innocence only to betray?
her mild eyes seemed incapable of any severity or guile, and
yet she has committed a murder."

Soon after we heard that the poor victim had expressed

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 71

a desire to see my cousin. My father wished her not to
go ; hut said, that he left it to her own judgment and feel-
ings to decide. " Yes/' said Elizabeth, " I will go, al-
though she is guilty ; and you, Victor, shall accompany
me : I cannot go alone." The idea of this visit was tor-
ture to me, yet I could not refuse.

We entered the gloomy prison-chamher, and beheld
Justine sitting on some straw at the farther end ; her hands
were manacled, and her head rested on her knees. She
rose on seeing us enter ; and when we were left alone with
her, she threw herself at the feet of Elizabeth, weeping
bitterly. My cousin wept also.

" Oh, Justine!" said she, "why did you rob me of my
last consolation ? I relied on your innocence ; and although
I was then very wretched, I was not so miserable as I am
now."

" And do you also believe that I am so very, very
wicked ? Do you also join with my enemies to crush me,
to condemn me as a murderer ?" Her voice was suffocated
with sobs.

" Rise, my poor girl," said Elizabeth, " why do you
kneel, if you are innocent ? I am not one of your enemies ;
I believed you guiltless, notwithstanding every evidence,
until I heard that you had yourself declared your guilt.
That report, you say, is false ; and be assured, dear Justine,
that nothing can shake my confidence in you for a moment,
but your own confession."

" I did confess ; but I confessed a lie. I confessed, that
I might obtain absolution; but now that falsehood lies
heavier at my heart than all my other sins. The God of
heaven forgive me ! Ever since I was condemned, my
confessor has besieged me ; he threatened and menaced,
until I almost began to think that I was the monster that
he said I was. He threatened excommunication and hell
fire in my last moments, if I continued obdurate. Dear
lady, I had none to support me ; all looked on me as a
wretch doomed to ignominy and perdition. What could I
do ? In an evil hour I subscribed to a lie; and now only
am I truly miserable."

She paused, weeping, and then continued — "I thought
F 4

72 FRANKENSTEIN; OB,

with horror,, my sweet lady, that you should believe your
Justine, whom your blessed aunt had so highly honoured,
and whom you loved, was a creature capable of a crime
which none but the devil himself could have perpetrated.
Dear William ! dearest blessed child ! I soon shall see
you again in heaven, where we shall all be happy ; and that
consoles me, going as I am to suffer ignominy and death."

" Oh, Justine ! forgive me for having for one moment
distrusted you. Why did you confess ? But do not
mourn, dear girl. Do not fear. I will proclaim, I will
prove your innocence. I will melt the stony hearts of
your enemies by my tears and prayers. You shall not die !
— You, my play-fellow, my companion, my sister, perish
on the scaffold ! No ! no ! I never could survive so hor-
rible a misfortune."

Justine shook her head mournfully. " I do no not fear
to die," she said ; " that pang is past. God raises my
weakness, and gives me courage to endure the worst. I
leave a sad and bitter world ; and if you remember me,
and think of me as of one unjustly condemned, I am re-
signed to the fate awaiting me. Learn from me, dear lady,
to submit in patience to the will of Heaven ! "

During this conversation I had retired to a corner of
the prison-room, where I could conceal the horrid anguish
that possessed me. Despair ! Who dared talk of that ?
The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass the
awful boundary between life and death, felt not as I did,
such deep and bitter agony. I gnashed my teeth, and
ground them together, uttering a groan that came from my
inmost soul. Justine started. When she saw who it was,
she approached me, and said, " Dear sir, you are very
kind to visit me ; you, I hope, do not believe that I am
guilty ? "

I could not answer. {( No, Justine," said Elizabeth ;
<c he is more convinced of your innocence than I was ; for
even when he heard that you had confessed, he did not
credit it."

" I truly thank him. In these last moments I feel the
sincerest gratitude towards those who think of me with
kindness. How sweet is the affection of others to such a

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 73

wretch as I am ! It removes more than half my misfor-
tune ; and I feel as if I could die in peace, now that my
innocence is acknowledged by you, dear lady, and your
cousin."

Thus the poor sufferer tried to comfort others and her-
self. She indeed gained the resignation she desired. But
I, the true murderer, felt the never-dying worm alive in
my bosom, which allowed of no hope or consolation. Eli-
zabeth also wept, and was unhappy ; but her's also was the
misery of innocence, which, like a cloud that passes over
the fair moon, for a while hides but cannot tarnish its
brightness. Anguish and despair had penetrated into~the
core of my heart ; I bore a hell within me, which nothing
could extinguish. We stayed several hours with Justine ;
and it was with great difficulty that Elizabeth could tear
herself away. {e I wish," cried she, " that I were to die
with you ; I cannot live in this world of misery."

Justine assumed an air of cheerfulness, while she with
difficulty repressed her bitter tears. She embraced Eliza-
beth, and said, in a voice of half-suppressed emotion,
e{ Farewell, sweet lady, dearest Elizabeth, my beloved and
only friend ; may Heaven, in its bounty, bless and preserve
you ; may this be the last misfortune that you will ever
suffer ! Live, and be happy, and make others so/'

And on the morrow Justine died. Elizabeth's heart-
rending eloquence failed to move the judges from their set-
tled conviction in the criminality of the saintly sufferer.
My passionate and indignant appeals were lost upon them.
And when I received their cold answers, and heard the
harsh unfeeling reasoning of these men, my purposed
avowal died away on my lips. Thus I might proclaim
myself a madman, but not revoke the sentence passed upon
my wretched victim. She perished on the scaffold as a
murderess !

From the tortures of my own heart, I turned to con-
template the deep and voiceless grief of my Elizabeth,
This also was my doing ! And my father's woe, and the
desolation of that late so smiling home — all was the work
of my thrice-accursed hands ! Ye weep, unhappy ones ;
but these are not your last tears ! Again shall you raise

74 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

the funeral wail, and the sound of your lamentations shall
again and again be heard ! Frankenstein,, your son, your
kinsman, your early, much-loved friend; he who would
spend each vital drop of blood for your sakes — who has
no thought nor sense of joy, except as it is mirrored also
in your dear countenances — who would fill the air with
blessings, and spend his life in serving you — he bids
you weep — to shed countless tears; happy beyond his hopes,
if thus inexorable fate be satisfied, and if the destruction
pause before the peace of the grave have succeeded to your
sad torments !

Thus spoke my prophetic soul, as, torn by remorse, hor-
ror, and despair, I beheld those I loved spend vain sorrow
upon the graves of William and Justine, the first hapless
victims to my unhallowed arts.

CHAPTER IX.

NOTHING is more painful to the human mind, than, after
the feelings have been worked up by a quick succession of
events, the dead calmness of inaction and certainty which
follows, arid deprives the soul both of hope and fear.
Justine died; she rested; and I was alive. The blood
flowed freely in my veins, but a weight of despair and re-
morse pressed on my heart, which nothing could remove.
Sleep fled from my eyes ; I wandered like an evil spirit,
for I had committed deeds of mischief beyond description
horrible, and more, much more (I persuaded myself), was
yet behind. Yet my heart overflowed with kindness, and
the love of virtue. I had begun life with benevolent in-
tentions, and thirsted for the moment when I should put
them in practice, and make myself useful to my fellow-
beings. Now all was blasted : instead of that serenity of
conscience, which allowed me to look back upon the past
with self-satisfaction, and from thence to gather promise
of new hopes, I was seized by remorse and the sense of
guilt, which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures,
such as no language can describe.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 75

This state of mind preyed upon my health, which had
perhaps never entirely recovered from the first shock it had
sustained. I shunned the face of man ; all sound of joy or
complacency \vas torture to me; solitude was my only
consolation — deep, dark, deathlike solitude.

My father observed with pain the alteration perceptible
in my disposition and habits, and endeavoured by argu-
ments deduced from the feelings of his serene conscience
and guiltless life, to inspire me with fortitude, and awaken
in me the courage to dispel the dark cloud which brooded
over me. " Do you think, Victor," said he, " that I do
not suffer also ? No one could love a child more than I
loved your brother ; " (tears came into his eyes as he
spoke ;) " but is it not a duty to the survivors, that we
should refrain from augmenting their unhappiness by an
appearance of immoderate grief? It is also a duty owed to
yourself ; for excessive sorrow prevents improvement or en-
joyment, or even the discharge of daily usefulness, without
which no man is fit for society."

This advice, although good, was totally inapplicable to
my case; I should have been the first to hide my grief,
and console my friends, if remorse had not mingled its bit-
terness, and terror its alarm with my other sensations. Now
I could only answer my father with a look of despair, and
endeavour to hide myself from his view.

About this time we retired to our house at Belrive. This
change was particularly agreeable to me. The shutting of
the gates regularly at ten o'clock, and the impossibility of
remaining on the lake after that hour, had rendered our re-
sidence within the walls of Geneva very irksome to me. I
was now free. Often, after the rest of the family had re-
tired for the night, I took the boat, and passed many hours
upon the water. Sometimes, with my sails set, I was car-
ried by the wind; and sometimes, after rowing into the
middle of the lake, I left the boat to pursue its own course,
and gave way to my own miserable reflections. I was often
tempted, when all was at peace around me, and I the only
unquiet thing that wandered restless in a scene so beautiful
and heavenly — if I except some bat, or the frogs, whose
harsh and interrupted croaking was heard only when I ap-

/O FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

preached the shore — often, I say, I was tempted to plunge
into the silent lake, that the waters might close over me
and my calamities for ever. But I was restrained, when I
thought of the heroic and suffering Elizabeth, whom I ten-
derly loved, and whose existence was bound up in mine.
I thought also of my father, and surviving brother : should
I by my base desertion leave them exposed and unpro-
tected to the malice of the fiend whom I had let loose
among them ?

At these moments I wept bitterly, and wished that peace
would revisit my mind only that I might afford them con-
solation and happiness. But that could not be. Remorse
extinguished every hope. I had been the author of un-
alterable evils ; and I lived in daily fear, lest the monster
whom I had created should perpetrate some new wicked-
ness. I had an obscure feeling that all was not over, and
that he would still commit some signal crime, which by its
enormity should almost efface the recollection of the past.
There was always scope for fear, so long as any thing I
loved remained behind. My abhorrence of this fiend can-
not be conceived. When I thought of him, I gnashed my
teeth, my eyes became inflamed, and I ardently wished to
extinguish that life which I had so thoughtlessly bestowed.
When I reflected on his crimes and malice, my hatred and
revenge burst all bounds of moderation. I would have
made a pilgrimage to the highest peak of the Andes, could
I, when there, have precipitated him to their base. I
wished to see him again, that I might wreak the utmost
extent of abhorrence on his head, and avenge the deaths of
William and Justine.

Our house was the house of mourning. My father's
health was deeply shaken by the horror of the recent
events. Elizabeth was sad and desponding ; she no longer
took delight in her ordinary occupations; all pleasure seemed
to her sacrilege toward the dead ; eternal woe and tears
she then thought was the just tribute she should pay to in-
nocence so blasted and destroyed. She was no longer that
happy creature, who in earlier youth wandered with me
on the banks of the lake, and talked with ecstasy of our
future prospects. The first of those sorrows which are

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 77

sent to wean us from the earth, had visited her, and its
dimming influence quenched her dearest smiles.

ff When I reflect, my dear cousin/' said she, " on the
miserable death of Justine Moritz, I no longer see the
orld and its works as they before appeared to me. Before,
looked upon the accounts of vice and injustice, that I
in books or heard from others, as tales of ancient days,
or imaginary evils ; at least they were remote, and more
familiar to reason than to the imagination ; but now misery
has come home, and men appear to me as monsters thirst-
ing for each other's blood. Yet I am certainly unjust.
Every body believed that poor girl to be guilty ; and if she
could have committed the crime for which she suffered,
assuredly she would have been the most depraved of human
creatures. For the sake of a few jewels, to have mur-
dered the son of her benefactor and friend, a child whom
she had nursed from its birth, and appeared to love as if it
had been her own ! I could not consent to the death of any
human being; but certainly I should have thought such a
creature unfit to remain in the society of men. But she
was innocent. I know, I feel she was innocent ; you are of
the same opinion, and that confirms me. Alas ! Victor, when
falsehood can look so like the truth, who can assure them-
selves of certain happiness ? I feel as if I were walking on
the edge of a precipice, towards which thousands are
crowding, and endeavouring to plunge me into the abyss.
William and Justine were assassinated, and the murderer
escapes ; he walks about the world free, and perhaps re-
spected. But even if I were condemned to suffer on the
scaffold for the same crimes, I would not change places with
such a wretch."

I listened to this discourse with the extremest agony. I,
not in deed, but in effect, was the true murderer. Eliza-
beth read my anguish in my countenance, and kindly taking
my hand, said, " My dearest friend, you must calm your-
self. These events have affected me, God knows how
deeply ; but I am not so wretched as you are. There is
an expression of despair, and sometimes of revenge, in your
countenance, that makes me tremble. Dear Victor, banish
these dark passions. Remember the friends around you.,

78 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

who centre all their hopes in you. Have we lost the power
of rendering you happy ? Ah ! while we love — while we
are true to each other, here in this land of peace and
beauty, your native country, we may reap every tranquil
blessing, — what can disturb our peace?"

And could not such words from her whom I fondly
prized before every other gift of fortune, suffice to chase
away the fiend that lurked in my heart? Even as she spoke
I drew near to her, as if in terror; lest at that very moment
the destroyer had been near to rob me of her.

Thus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of
earth, nor of heaven, could redeem my soul from woe : the
very accents of love were ineffectual. I was encompassed
by a cloud which no beneficial influence could penetrate.
The wounded deer dragging its fainting limbs to some
untrodden brake, there to gaze upon the arrow which had
pierced it, and to die — was but a type of me.

Sometimes I could cope with the sullen despair that
overwhelmed me: but sometimes the whirlwind passions
of my soul drove me to seek, by bodily exercise and by
change of place, some relief from my intolerable sensations.
It was during an access of this kind that I suddenly left
my home, and bending my steps towards the near Alpine
valleys, sought in the magnificence, the eternity of such
scenes, to forget myself and my ephemeral, because human,
sorrows. My wanderings were directed towards the valley
of Chamounix. I had visited it frequently during my boy-
hood. Six years had passed since then : / was a wreck —
but nought had changed in those savage and enduring
scenes.

I performed the first part of my journey on horseback.
I afterwards hired a mule, as the more sure-footed, and
least liable to receive injury on these rugged roads. The
weather was fine : it was about the middle of the month of
August, nearly two months after the death of Justine ; that
miserable epoch from which I dated all my woe. The
weight upon my spirit was sensibly lightened as I plunged
yet deeper in the ravine of Arve. The immense mountains
and precipices that overhung me on every side — the sound
of the river raging among the rocks, and the dashing of the

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 79

waterfalls around, spoke of a power mighty as Omnipotence
—and I ceased to fear, or to bend before any being less almighty
than that which had created and ruled the elements, here
displayed in their most terrific guise. Still, as I ascended
higher, the valley assumed a more magnificent and asto-
nishing character. Ruined castles hanging on the pre-
cipices of piny mountains ; the impetuous Arve, and
cottages every here and there peeping forth from among
the trees, formed a scene of singular beauty. But it was
augmented and rendered sublime by the mighty Alps,
whose white and shining pyramids and domes towered
above all, as belonging to another earth, the habitations of
another race of beings.

I passed the bridge of Pelissier, where the ravine, which
the river forms, opened before me, and I began to ascend
the mountain that overhangs it. Soon after I entered the
valley of Chamounix. This valley is more wonderful and
sublime, but not so beautiful and picturesque, as that of
Servox, through which I had just passed. The high and
snowy mountains were its immediate boundaries; but I saw
no more ruined castles and fertile fields. Immense glaciers
approached the road ; I heard the rumbling thunder of the
falling avalanche, and marked the smoke of its passage.
Mont Blanc, the supreme and magnificent Mont Blanc,
raised itself from the surrounding aiguilles, and its tre-
mendous dome overlooked the valley.

A tingling long-lost sense of pleasure often came across me
during this journey. Some turn in the road, some new
object suddenly perceived and recognised, reminded me of
days gone by, and were associated with the light-hearted
gaiety of boyhood. The very winds whispered in soothing
accents, and maternal nature bade me weep no more. Then
again the kindly influence ceased to act — I found myself
fettered again to grief, and indulging in all the misery of
reflection. Then I spurred on my animal, striving so to
forget the world, my fears, and, more than all, myself — or,
in a more desperate fashion, I alighted, and threw myself on
the grass, weighed down by horror and despair.

At length I arrived at the village of Chamounix. Ex-
haustion succeeded to the extreme fatigue both of body and

80 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

of mind which I had endured. For a short space of time I
remained at the window,, watching the pallid lightnings that
played above Mont Blanc, and listening to the rushing of
the Arve, which pursued its noisy way beneath. The same
lulling sounds acted as a lullaby to my too keen sensations :
when I placed my head upon my pillow, sleep crept over
me ; I felt it as it came, and blest the giver of oblivion.

CHAPTER X.

I SPENT the following day roaming through the valley. I
stood beside the sources of the Arveiron, which take their
rise in a glacier, that with slow pace is advancing down
from the summit of the hills, to barricade the valley. The
abrupt sides of vast mountains were before me ; the icy
wall of the glacier overhung me; a few shattered pines
were scattered around ; and the solemn silence of this glo-
rious presence-chamber of imperial Nature was broken only
by the brawling waves, or the fall of some vast fragment,
the thunder sound of the avalanche, or the cracking, rever-
berated along the mountains of the accumulated ice, which,
through the silent working of immutable laws, was ever and
anon rent and torn, as if it had been but a plaything in their
hands. These sublime and magnificent scenes afforded
me the greatest consolation that I was capable of receiving.
They elevated me from all littleness of feeling; and although
they did not remove my grief, they subdued and tranquil-
lised it. In some degree, also, they diverted my mind
from the thoughts over which it had brooded for the last
month. I retired to rest at night ; my slumbers, as it were,
waited on and ministered to by the assemblance of grand
shapes which I had contemplated during the day. They
congregated round me; the unstained snowy mountain-top,
the glittering pinnacle, the pine woods, and ragged bare
ravine ; the eagle, soaring amidst the clouds — they all
gathered round me, and bade me be at peace.

Where had they fled when the next morning I awoke ?

I

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 8l

All of soul-inspiriting fled with sleep, and dark melancholy
clouded every thought. The rain was pouring in torrents,
and thick mists hid the summits of the mountains, so that
I even saw not the faces of those mighty friends. Still I
would penetrate their misty veil, and seek them in their
cloudy retreats. What were rain and storm to me ? My
mule was brought to the door, and I resolved to ascend to
the summit of Montanvert. I remembered the effect that
the view of the tremendous and ever-moving glacier had
produced upon my mind when I first saw it. It had then
filled me with a sublime ecstasy, that gave wings to the
soul, and allowed it to soar from the obscure world to light
and joy. The sight of the awful and majestic in nature had
indeed always the effect of solemnising my mind, and
causing me to forget the passing cares of life. I deter-
mined to go without a guide, for I was well acquainted
with the path, and the presence of another would destroy
the solitary grandeur of the scene.

The ascent is precipitous, but the path is cut into con-
tinual and short windings, which enable you to surmount
the perpendicularity of the mountain. It is a scene terri-
fically desolate. In a thousand spots the traces of the
winter avalanche may be perceived, where trees lie broken
and strewed on the ground ; some entirely destroyed,
others bent, leaning upon the jutting rocks of the mountain,
or transversely upon other trees. The path, as you ascend
higher, is intersected by ravines of snow, down which
stones continually roll from a.bove ; one of them is parti-
cularly dangerous, as the slightest sound, such as even
speaking in aloud voice, produces a concussion of air suffi-
cient to draw destruction upon the head of the speaker.
The pines are not tall or luxuriant, but they are sombre,
and add an air of severity to the scene. I looked on the
valley beneath ; vast mists were rising from the rivers
which ran through it, and curling in thick wreaths around
the opposite mountains, whose summits were hid in the
uniform clouds, while rain poured from the dark sky, and
added to the melancholy impression I received from the
objects around me. Alas ! why does man boast of sensi-
bilities superior to those apparent in the brute ; it only

G

82 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

renders them more necessary beings. If our impulses were
confined to hunger, thirst, and desire, we might be nearly
free ; but now we are moved by every wind that blows, and
a chance word or scene that that word may convey to us.

We rest ; a dream has power to poison sleep.

We rise ; one wand'ring thought pollutes the day.
We feel, conceive, or reason ; laugh or weep,

Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away ;
It is the same : for, be it joy or sorrow,

The path of its departure still is free.
Man's yesterday may ne'er belike his morrow ;

Nought may endure but mutability !

It was nearly noon when I arrived at the top of the
ascent. For some time I sat upon the rock that overlooks
the sea of ice. A mist covered both that and the sur-
rounding mountains. Presently a breeze dissipated the
cloud, and I descended upon the glacier. The surface is
very uneven, rising like the waves of a troubled sea, des-
cending low, and interspersed by rifts that sink deep. The
field of ice is almost a league in width, but I spent nearly
two hours in crossing it. The opposite mountain is a bare
perpendicular rock. From the side where I now stood
Mon tan vert was exactly opposite, at the distance of a league ;
and above it rose Mont Blanc, in awful majesty. I re-
mained in a recess of the rock, gazing on this wonderful and
stupendous scene. The sea, or rather the vast river of
ice, wound among its dependent mountains, whose aerial
summits hung over its recesses. Their icy and glittering
peaks shone in the sunlight over the clouds. My heart,
which was before sorrowful, now swelled with something
like joy ; I exclaimed — " Wandering spirits, if indeed ye
wander, and do not rest in your narrow beds, allow me
this faint happiness, or take me, as your companion, away
from the joys of life."

As I said this, I suddenly beheld the figure of a man, at
some distance, advancing towards me with superhuman
speed. He bounded over the crevices in the ice, among
which I had walked with caution ; his stature, also, as he
approached, seemed to exceed that of man. I was troubled:
a mist came over my eyes, and I felt a faintness seize me ;
but I was quickly restored by the cold gale of the mountains.
I perceived, as the shape came nearer (sight tremendous and

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 83

abhorred !) that it was the wretch whom I had created. I
tremhlecl with rage and horror, resolving to wait his ap-
proach,, and then close with him in mortal combat. He
approached ; his countenance bespoke bitter anguish, com-
bined with disdain and malignity, while its unearthly ug-
liness rendered it almost too horrible for human eyes. But
I scarcely observed this ; rage and hatred had at first de-
prived me of utterance, and I recovered only to overwhelm
him with words expressive of furious detestation and con-
tempt.

" Devil," I exclaimed, " do you dare approach me ? and
do not you fear the fierce vengeance of my arm wreaked on
your miserable head ? Begone, vile insect ! or rather, stay,
that I may trample you to dust ! and, oh ! that I could,
with the extinction of your miserable existence, restore those
victims whom you have so diabolically murdered ! "

" I expected this reception," said the daemon. c( All
men hate the wretched ; how, then, must I be hated, who
am miserable beyond all li ving things ! Yet you, iny
creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, to whom thou
art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one
of us. You purpose to kill me. How dare you sport thus
with life ? Do your duty towards me, and I will do mine
towards you and the rest of mankind. If you will comply
with my conditions, I will leave them and you at peace ;
but if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death, until it be
satiated with the blood of your remaining friends."

" Abhorred monster ! fiend that thou art ! the tortures
of hell are too mild a vengeance for thy crimes. Wretched
devil ! you reproach me with your creation ; come on, then,
that I may extinguish the spark which I so negligently
bestowed."

My rage was without bounds j I sprang on him, im-
pelled by all the feelings which can arm one being against
the existence of another.

He easily eluded me, and said —

" Be calm ! I entreat you to hear me, before you give
vent to your hatred on my devoted head. Have I not suf-
fered enough, that you seek to increase my misery? Life,
although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear
G 2

84> FRANKENSTEIN ; OKX

to me, and I will defend it. Remember,, thou liast made
me more powerful than thyself; my height is superior to
thine ; my joints more supple. But I will not be tempted
to set myself in opposition to thee. I am thy creature, and
I will be even mild and docile to my natural lord and king,
if thou wilt also perform thy part, the which thou owest
me. Oh, Frankenstein, be not equitable to every other,
and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even
thy clemency and affection, is most due. Remember, that
I am thy creature ; I ought to be thy Adam ; but I am
rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no
misdeed. Every where I see bliss, from which I alone
am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good;
misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall
again be virtuous."

1 e Begone ! I will not hear you. There can be no com-
munity between you and me ; we are enemies. Begone,
or let us try our strength in a fight, in which one must
fall."

1 e How can I move thee ? Will no entreaties cause thee
to turn a favourable eye upon thy creature, who implores
thy goodness and compassion ? Believe me, Frankenstein r
I was benevolent ; my soul glowed with love and humanity:
but am I not alone, miserably alone? You, my creator,
abhor me ; what hope can I gather from your fellow-
creatures, who owe me nothing ? they spurn and hate me.
The desert mountains and dreary glaciers are my refuge.
I have wandered here many days ; the caves of ice, which
I only do not fear, are a dwelling to me, and the only one
which man does not grudge. These bleak skies I hail, for
they are kinder to me than your fellow-beings. If the
multitude of mankind knew of my existence, they would do
as you do, and arm themselves for my destruction. Shall
I not then hate them who abhor me ? I will keep no terms
with my enemies. I am miserable, and they shall share
my wretchedness. Yet it is in your power to recompense
me, and deliver them from an evil which it only remains for
you to make so great, that not only you and your family,
but thousands of others, shall be swallowed up in the whirl-
winds of its rage. Let your compassion be moved, and do

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 85

not disdain me. Listen to my tale : when you have heard
that, abandon or commiserate me., as you shall judge that I
deserve. But hear me. The guilty are allowed, by human
laws, bloody as they are, to speak in their own defence
before they are condemned. Listen to me, Frankenstein.
You accuse me of murder ; and yet you would, with a sa-
tisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise
the eternal justice of man ! Yet I ask you not to spare me:
listen to me ; and then, if you can, and if you will, destroy
the work of your hands."

" Why do you call to my remembrance," I rejoined,
" circumstances, of which I shudder to reflect, that I have
been the miserable origin and author ? Cursed be the day,
abhorred devil, in which you first saw light ! Cursed
(although I curse myself) be the hands that formed you !
You have made me wretched beyond expression. You
have left me no power to consider whether I am just to
you, or not. Begone ! relieve me from the sight of your
detested form."

" Thus I relieve thee, my creator," he said, and placed
his hated hands before my eyes, which I flung from me with
violence ; " thus I take from thee a sight which you abhor.
Still thou canst listen to me, and grant me thy compassion,
By the virtues that I once possessed, I demand this from
you. Hear my tale ; it is long and strange, and the tem-
perature of this place is not fitting to your fine sensations ;
come to the hut upon the mountain. The sun is yet high
in the heavens ; before it descends to hide itself behind yon
snowy precipices, and illuminate another world, you will
have heard my story, and can decide. On you it rests,
whether I quit for ever the neighbourhood of man, and lead
a harmless life, or become the scourge of your fellow-
creatures, and the author of your own speedy ruin."

As he said this, he led the way across the ice : I fol-
lowed. My heart was full, and I did not answer him ; but,
as I proceeded, I weighed the various arguments that he
had used, and determined at least to listen to his tale. I
was partly urged by curiosity, and compassion confirmed
my resolution. I had hitherto supposed him to be the
murderer of my brother, and I eagerly sought a confirm-
G 3

8 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

ation or denial of this opinion. For the first time, also, I
felt what the duties of a creator towards his creature were,
and that I ought to render him happy before I complained
of his wickedness. These motives urged me to comply
with his demand. We crossed the ice, therefore, and as-
cended the opposite rock. Tfye air was cold, and the rain
again began to descend : we entered the hut, the fiend with
an air of exultation, I with a heavy heart, and depressed
spirits. But I consented to listen ; and, seating myself by
the fire which my odious companion had lighted, he thus
began his tale.

CHAPTER XI.

" IT is with considerable difficulty that I remember the
original era of my being : all the events of that period ap-
pear confused and indistinct. A strange multiplicity of
sensations seized me, and I saw, felt, heard, and smelt, at
the same time ; and it was, indeed, a long time before I
learned to distinguish between the operations of my various
senses. By degrees, I remember, a stronger light pressed
upon my nerves, so that I was obliged to shut my eyes.
Darkness then came over me, and troubled me; but hardly
had I felt this, when, by opening my eyes, as I now sup-
pose, the light poured in upon me again. I walked, and,
I believe, descended ; but I presently found a great alter-
ation in my sensations. Before, dark and opaque bodies
had surrounded me, impervious to my touch or sight ; but
I now found that I could wander on at liberty, with no
obstacles which I could not either surmount or avoid. The
light became more and more oppressive to me ; and, the
heat wearying me as I walked, I sought a place where I
could receive shade. This was the forest near Ingolstadt ;
and here I lay by the side of a brook resting from my
fatigue, until I felt tormented by hunger and thirst. This
roused me from my nearly dormant state, and I ate some
berries which I found hanging on the trees, or lying on the

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 87

ground. I slaked my thirst at the brook ; and then lying
down, was overcome by sleep.

" It was dark when I awoke ; I felt cold also, and half-
frightened, as it were instinctively, finding myself so de-
solate. Before I had quitted your apartment, on a sensation
of cold, I had covered myself with some clothes ; but these
were insufficient to secure me from the dews of night. I
was a poor, helpless, miserable wretch ; I knew, and could
distinguish, nothing ; but feeling pain invade me on all
sides, I sat down and wept.

" Soon a gentle light stole over the heavens, and gave
me a sensation of pleasure.' I started up, and beheld a
radiant form rise from among the trees.* I gazed with a
kind of wonder. It moved slowly, but it enlightened my
path ; and I again went out in search of berries. I was
still cold, when under one of the trees I found a huge cloak,
with which I covered myself, and sat down upon the
ground. No distinct ideas occupied my mind ; all was
confused. I felt light, and hunger, and thirst, and dark-
ness ; innumerable sounds rung in my ears, and on all sides
various scents saluted me : the only object that I could
distinguish was the bright moon, and I fixed my eyes on
that with pleasure.

" Several changes of day and night passed, and the orb
of night had greatly lessened, when I began to distinguish
my sensations from each other. I gradually saw plainly
the clear stream that supplied me with drink, and the trees
that shaded me with their foliage. I was delighted when
I first discovered that a pleasant sound, which often saluted
my ears, proceeded from the throats of the little winged
animals who had often intercepted the light from my eyes.
I began also to observe, with greater accuracy, the forms
that surrounded me, and to perceive the boundaries of the
radiant roof of light which canopied me. Sometimes I tried
to imitate the pleasant songs of the birds, but was unable.
Sometimes I wished to express my sensations in my own
mode, but the uncouth and inarticulate sounds which broke
from me frightened me into silence again.

" The moon had disappeared from the night, and again,

* The moon.
O 4

88 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

with a lessened form, showed itself, while I still remained
in the forest. My sensations had, by this time, become
distinct, and my mind received every day additional ideas.
My eyes became accustomed to the light, and to perceive
objects in their right forms ; I distinguished the insect
from the herb, and, by degrees, one herb from another. I
found that the sparrow uttered none but harsh notes, whilst
those of the blackbird and thrush were sweet and enticing.

e( One day, when I was oppressed by cold, I found a fire
which had been left by some wandering beggars, and was
overcome with delight at the warmth I experienced from
it. In my joy I thrust my hand into the live embers, but
quickly drew it out again with a cry of pain. How strange,
I thought, that the same cause should produce such op-
posite effects ! I examined the materials of the fire, and
to my joy found it to be composed of wood. I quickly
collected some branches ; but they were wet, and would not
burn. I was pained at this, and sat still watching the
operation of the fire. The wet wood which I had placed
near the heat dried, and itself became inflamed. I reflected
on this ; and, by touching the various branches, I disco-
vered the cause, and busied myself in collecting a great
quantity of wood, that I might dry it, and have a plentiful
supply of fire. When night came on, and brought sleep
with it, I was in the greatest fear lest my fire should be
extinguished. 1 covered it carefully with dry wood and
leaves, and placed wet branches upon it ; and then, spread-
ing my cloak, I lay on the ground, and sunk into sleep.

" It was morning when I awoke, and my first care was
to visit the fire. I uncovered it, and a gentle breeze
quickly fanned it into a flame. I observed this also, and
contrived a fan of branches, which roused the embers when
they were nearly extinguished. When night came again,
I found, with pleasure, that the fire gave light as well as
heat ; and that the discovery of this element was useful to
me in my food ; for I found some of the offals that the
travellers had left had been roasted, and tasted much more
savoury than the berries 1 gathered from the trees. I
tried, therefore, to dress my food in the same manner,
placing it on the live embers. I found that the berries

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. O[)

were spoiled by this operation, and the nuts and roots much
improved.

" Food, however, became scarce ; and I often spent the
whole day searching in vain for a few acorns to assuage the
pangs of hunger. When I found this, I resolved to quit
the place that I had hitherto inhabited, to seek for one
where the few wants I experienced would be more easily
satisfied. In this emigration, I exceedingly lamented the
loss of the fire which I had obtained through accident, and
knew not how to reproduce it. I gave several hours to
the serious consideration of this difficulty; but I was
obliged to relinquish all attempt to supply it ; and, wrap-
ping myself up in my cloak, I struck across the wood
towards the setting sun. I passed three days in these
rambles, and at length discovered the open country. A
great fall of snow had taken place the night before, and
the fields were of one uniform white ; the appearance was
disconsolate, and I found my feet chilled by the cold damp
substance that covered the ground.

" It was about seven in the morning, and I longed to
obtain food and shelter ; at length I perceived a small hut,
on a rising ground, which had doubtless been built for the
convenience of some shepherd. This was a new sight to
me; and I examined the structure with great curiosity.
Finding the door open, I entered. An old man sat in it,
near a fire, over which he was preparing his breakfast.
He turned on hearing a noise ; and, perceiving me, shrieked
loudly, and, quitting the hut, ran across the fields with a
speed of which his debilitated form hardly appeared capable.
His appearance, different from any I had ever before seen,
and his flight, somewhat surprised me. But I was enchanted
by the appearance of the hut : here the snow and rain could
not penetrate ; the ground was dry ; and it presented to
me then as exquisite and divine a retreat as Pandsemonium
appeared to the daemons of hell after their sufferings in the
lake of fire. I greedily devoured the remnants of the shep-
herd's breakfast, which consisted of bread, cheese, milk, and
wine; the latter, however, I did not like. Then, overcome by
fatigue, I lay down among some straw, and fell asleep.

" It was noon when I awoke ; and, allured by the

90 FRANKENSTE IN ; OR,

warmth of the sun, which shone brightly on the white
ground, I determined to recommence my travels ; and,
depositing the remains of the peasant's breakfast in a
wallet I found, I proceeded across the fields for several
hours, until at sunset I arrived at a village. How mira-
culous did this appear ! the huts, the neater cottages, and
stately houses, engaged my admiration by turns. The
vegetables in the gardens, the milk and cheese that I saw
placed at the windows of some of the cottages, allured my
appetite. One of the best of these I entered; but I had
hardly placed my foot within the door, before the children
shrieked, and one of the women fainted. The whole vil-
lage was roused ; some fled, some attacked me, until,
grievously bruised by stones and many other kinds of mis-
sile weapons, I escaped to the open country, and fearfully
took refuge in a low hovel, quite bare, and making a
wretched appearance after the palaces I had beheld in the
village. This hovel, however, joined a cottage of a neat
and pleasant appearance ; but, after my late dearly bought
experience, I dared not enter it. My place of refuge was
constructed of wood, but so low, that I could with diffi-
culty sit upright in it. No wood, however, was placed on
the earth, which formed the floor, but it was dry; and
although the wind entered it by innumerable chinks, I found
it an agreeable asylum from the snow and rain.

" Here then I retreated, and lay down happy to have
found a shelter, however miserable, from the inclemency
of the season, and still more from the barbarity of man.

" As soon as morning dawned, I crept from my kennel,
that I might view the adjacent cottage, and discover if I
could remain in the habitation I had found. It was
situated against the back of the cottage, and surrounded on
the sides which were exposed by a pig-sty and a clear pool
of water. One part was open, and by that I had crept in ;
but now I covered every crevice by which I might be per-
ceived with stones and wood, yet in such a manner that I
might move them on occasion to pass out : all the light I
enjoyed came through the sty, and that was sufficient for me.

fc Having thus arranged my dwelling, and carpeted it
with clean straw, I retired ; for I saw the figure of a man

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 9

at a distance, and I remembered too well my treatment the
night before, to trust myself in his power. I had first,
however, provided for my sustenance for that day, by a loaf
of coarse bread, which I purloined, and a cup with which
I could drink, more conveniently than from my hand, of
the pure water which flowed by my retreat. The floor was
a little raised, so that it was kept perfectly dry, and by its
vicinity to the chimney of the cottage it was tolerably warm,

(e Being thus provided, I resolved to reside in this hovel,
until something should occur which might alter my deter-
mination. It was indeed a paradise, compared to the
bleak forest, my former residence, the rain-dropping
branches, and dank earth. I ate my breakfast with plea-
sure, and was about to remove a plank to procure myself
a little water, when I heard a step, and looking through
a small chink, I beheld a young creature, with a pail on her
head, passing before my hovel. The girl was young, and
of gentle demeanour, unlike what I have since found cot-
tagers and farm-house servants to be. Yet she was meanly
dressed, a coarse blue petticoat and a linen jacket being
her only garb ; her fair hair was plaited, but not adorned :
she looked patient, yet sad. I lost sight of her ; and in
about a quarter of an hour she returned, bearing the pail,
which was now partly filled with milk. As she walked
along, seemingly incommoded by the burden, a young man
met her, whose countenance expressed a deeper despond-
ence. Uttering a few sounds with an air of melancholy,
he took the pail from her head, and bore it to the cottage
himself. She followed, and they disappeared. Presently I
saw the young man again, with some tools in his hand,
cross the field behind the cottage ; and the girl was also
busied, sometimes in the house, and sometimes in the yard.

" On examining my dwelling, I found that one of the
windows of the cottage had formerly occupied a part of it,
but the panes had been filled up with wood. In one of
these was a small and almost imperceptible chink, through
which the eye could just penetrate. Through this crevice
a small room was visible, whitewashed and clean, but very
bare of furniture. In one corner, near a small fire, sat an
old man, leaning his head on his hands in a disconsolate

9*2 FRANKENSTEIN j OR,

attitude. The young girl was occupied in arranging the
cottage ; but presently she took something out of a drawer,
which employed her hands., and she sat down beside the old
man, who, taking up an instrument, began to play, and to
produce sounds sweeter than the voice of the thrush or the
nightingale. It was a lovely sight, even to rne, poor wretch !
who had never beheld aught beautiful before. The silver
hair and benevolent countenance of the aged cottager won
my reverence, while the gentle manners of the girl enticed
my love. He played a sweet mournful air, which I per-
ceived drew tears from the eyes of his amiable companion,
of which the old man took no notice, until she sobbed
audibly; he then pronounced a few sounds, and the fair
creature, leaving her work, knelt at his feet. He raised
her, and smiled with such kindness and affection, that I
felt sensations of a peculiar and overpowering nature : they
were a mixture of pain and pleasure, such as I had never
before experienced, either from hunger or cold, warmth or
food; and I withdrew from the window, unable to bear
these emotions.

" Soon after this the young man returned, bearing on
his shoulders a load of wood. The girl met him at the
door, helped to relieve him of his burden, and, taking some
of the fuel into the cottage, placed it on the fire ; then she
and the youth went apart into a nook of the cottage, and he
showed her a large loaf and a piece of cheese. She seemed
pleased, and went into the garden for some roots and plants,
which she placed in water, and then upon the fire. She
afterwards continued her work, whilst the young man went
into the garden, and appeared busily employed in digging
and pulling up roots. After he had been employed thus
about an hour, the young woman joined him, and they
entered the cottage together.

" The old man had, in the mean time, bseix pensive; but,
on the appearance of his companions, he assumed a more
cheerful air, and they sat down to eat. The meal was
quickly despatched. The young woman was again occupied
in arranging the cottage; the old man walked* before the
cottage in the sun for a few minutes, leaning on the arm of
the youth. Nothing could exceed in beauty the contrast

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 93

between these two excellent creatures. One was old, with
silver hairs and a countenance beaming with benevolence
and love : the younger was slight and graceful in his figure,
and his features were moulded with the finest symmetry;
yet his eyes and attitude expressed the utmost sadness and
despondency. The old man returned to the cottage ; and
the youth, with tools different from those he had used in
the morning, directed his steps across the fields.

" Night quickly shut in ; but, to my extreme wonder, I
found that the cottagers had a means of prolonging light by
the use of tapers, and was delighted to find that the setting
of the sun did not put an end to the pleasure I experienced
in watching my human neighbours. In the evening, the
young girl and her companion were employed in various
occupations which I did not understand ; and the old man
again took up the instrument which produced the divine
sounds that had enchanted me in the morning. So soon as
he had finished, the youth began, not to play, but to utter
sounds that were monotonous, and neither resembling the
harmony of the old man's instrument nor the songs of the
birds : I since found that he read aloud, but at that time I
knew nothing of the science of words or letters.

" The family, after having been thus occupied for a
short time, extinguished their lights, and retired, as I con-
jectured, to rest.

CHAPTER XII.

<( I LAY on my straw, but I could not sleep. I thought of
the occurrences of the day. What chiefly struck me was
the gentle manners of these people ; and I longed to join
them, but dared not. I remembered too well the treatment
I had suffered the night before from the barbarous villagers,
and resolved, whatever course of conduct I might hereafter
think it right to pursue, that for the present I would remain
quietly in my hovel, watching, and endeavouring to discover
the motives which influenced their actions.

fe The cottagers arose the next morning before the sun.

94 FRANKENSTEIN ; OR,

The young woman arranged the cottage, and prepared the
food ; and the youth departed after the first meal.

" This day was passed in the same routine as that which
preceded it. The young man was constantly employed
out of doors, and the girl in various laborious occupations
within. The old man, whom I soon perceived to be blind,
employed his leisure hours on his instrument or in con-
templation. Nothing could exceed the love and respect
which the younger cottagers exhibited towards their vene-
rable companion. They performed towards him every
little office of affection and duty with gentleness ; and he
rewarded them by his benevolent smiles.

" They were not entirely happy. The young man and
his companion often went apart, and appeared to weep. I
saw no cause for their unhappiness ; but I was deeply
affected by it. If such lovely creatures were miserable, it
was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being,
should be wretched. Yet why were these gentle beings
unhappy ? They possessed a delightful house (for such it
was in my eyes) and every luxury ; they had a fire to warm
them when chill, and delicious viands when hungry ; they
were dressed in excellent clothes : and, still more, they en-
joyed one another's company and speech, interchanging
each day looks of affection and kindness. What did their
tears imply ? Did they really express pain ? I was at first
unable to solve these questions ; but perpetual attention and
time explained to me many appearances which were at first
enigmatic.

f( A considerable period elapsed before I discovered one
of the causes of the uneasiness of this amiable family : it
was poverty ; and they suffered that evil in a very distressing
degree. Their nourishment consisted entirely of the vege-
tables of their garden, and the milk of one cow, which gave
very little during the winter, when its masters could scarcely
procure food to support it. They often, I believe, suffered
the pangs of hunger very poignantly, especially the two
younger cottagers ; for several times they placed food before
the old man, when they reserved none for themselves.

" This trait of kindness moved me sensibly. I had been
accustomed, during the night, to steal a part of their store

THE JIODEBN PROMETHEUS. 95

for my own consumption ; but when I found that in doing
this I inflicted pain on the cottagers, I abstained, and satis-
fied myself with berries, nuts, and roots, which I gathered
from a neighbouring wood.

" I discovered also another means through which I was
enabled to assist their labours. I found that the youth
spent a great part of each day in collecting wood for the
family fire ; and, during the night, I often took his tools,
the use of which I quickly discovered, and brought home
firing sufficient for the consumption of several days.

" I remember, the first time that I did this, the young
woman, when she opened the door in the morning, appeared
greatly astonished on seeing a great pile of wood on the
outside. She uttered some words in a loud voice, and the
youth joined her, who also expressed surprise. I observed,
with pleasure, that he did not go to the forest that day, but
spent it in repairing the cottage, and cultivating the garden.

(e By degrees I made a discovery of still greater moment.
I found that these people possessed a method of commu-
nicating their experience and feelings to one another by
articulate sounds. I perceived that the words they spoke
sometimes, produced pleasure or pain, smiles or sadness, in
the minds and countenances of the hearers. This was in-
deed a godlike science, and I ardently desired to become
acquainted with it. But I was baffled in every attempt I
made for this purpose. Their pronunciation was quick ;
and the words they uttered, not having any apparent con-
nection with visible objects, I was unable to discover any
clue by which I could unravel the mystery of their refer-
ence. By great application, however, and after having re-
mained during the space of several revolutions of the moon
in my hovel, I discovered the names that were given to
some of the most familiar objects of discourse ; I learned
and applied the words, fire, milk, bread, and wood. I
learned also the names of the cottagers themselves. The
youth and his companion had each of them several names^
but the old man had only one, which was father. The
girl was called sister, or Agatha; and the youth Felix, bro-
ther, or son. I cannot describe the delight I felt when I
learned the ideas appropriated to each of these sounds, and

96 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

was able to pronounce them. I distinguished several other
words, without being able as yet to understand or apply
them ; such as good, dearest, unhappy.

" I spent the winter in this manner. The gentle man-
ners and beauty of the cottagers greatly endeared them to
me : when they were unhappy,, I felt depressed ; when
they rejoiced, I sympathised in their joys. I saw few hu-
man beings beside them; and if any other happened to
enter the cottage, their harsh manners and rude gait only
enhanced to me the superior accomplishments of my friends.
The old man, I could perceive, often endeavoured to en-
courage his children, as sometimes I found that he called
them, to cast off their melancholy. He would talk in a
cheerful accent, with an expression of goodness that be-
stowed pleasure even upon me. Agatha listened with
respect, her eyes sometimes filled with tears, which she
endeavoured to wipe away unperceived ; but I generally
found that her countenance and tone were more cheerful
after having listened to the exhortations of her father. It
was not thus with Felix. He was always the saddest of
the group ; and, even to my unpractised senses, he ap-
peared to have suffered more deeply than his friends. But
if his countenance was more sorrowful, his voice was more
cheerful than that of his sister, especially when he addressed
the old man.

<e I could mention innumerable instances, which, al-
though slight, marked the dispositions of these amiable
cottagers. In the midst of poverty and want, Felix carried
with pleasure to his sister the first little white flower that
peeped out from beneath the snowy ground. Early in the
morning, before she had risen, he cleared away the snow that
obstructed lier path to the milk-house, drew water from the
well, and brought the wood from the out-house, where, to
his perpetual astonishment, he found his store always re-
plenished by an invisible hand. In the day, I believe, he
worked sometimes for a neighbouring farmer, because he
often went forth, and did not return until dinner, yet
brought no wood with him. At other times he worked in
the garden ; but, as there was little to do in the frosty sea-
son, he read to the old man and Agatha.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 97

" This reading had puzzled me extremely at first; but,
by degrees, I discovered that he uttered many of the same
sounds when he read, as when he talked. I conjectured,
therefore, that he found on the paper signs for speech which
he understood, and I ardently longed to comprehend these
also ; but how was that possible, when I did not even un-
derstand the sounds for which they stood as signs ? I im-
proved, however, sensibly in this science, but not sufficiently
to follow up any kind of conversation, although I applied
my whole mind to the endeavour : for I easily perceived
that, although I eagerly longed to discover myself to the
cottagers, I ought not to make the attempt until I had first
become master of their language ; which knowledge might
enable me to make them overlook the deformity of my
figure ; for with this also the contrast perpetually presented
to my eyes had made me acquainted.

" I had admired the perfect forms of my cottagers —
their grace, beauty, and delicate complexions : but how was
I terrified, when I viewed myself in a transparent pool !
Ai first I started back, unable to believe that it was indeed
I who was reflected in the mirror; and when I became
fully convinced that I was in reality the monster that I
am, I was filled with the bitterest sensations of despondence
and mortification. Alas ! I did not yet entirely know the
fatal effects of this miserable deformity.

" As the sun became warmer, and the light of day longer,
the snow vanished, and I beheld the bare trees and the
black earth. From this time Felix was more employed ;
and the heart-moving indications of impending famine dis-
appeared. Their food, as I afterwards found, was coarse,
but it was wholesome ; and they procured a sufficiency of
it. Several new kinds of plants sprung up in the garden,
which they dressed ; and these signs of comfort increased
daily as the season advanced.

" The old man, leaning on his son, walked each day at
noon, when it did not rain, as I found it was called when
the heavens poured forth its waters. This frequently took
place ; but a high wind quickly dried the earth, and the
season became far more pleasant than it had been.

" My mode of life in my hovel was uniform. During
H

98 FRANKENSTEIN; OB,

the morning, I attended the motions of the cottagers ; and
when they were dispersed in various occupations, I slept :
the remainder of the day was spent in observing my friends.
When they had retired to rest, if there was any moon, or
the night was star-light, I went into the woods, and collected
my own food and fuel for the cottage. When I returned,
as often as it was necessary, I cleared their path from the
snow, and performed those offices that I had seen done by
Felix. I afterwards found that these labours, performed
by an invisible hand, greatly astonished them ; and once or
twice I heard them, on these occasions, utter the words
good spirit, wonderful ; but I did not then understand the
signification of these terms.

" My thoughts now became more active, and I longed to
discover the motives and feelings of these lovely creatures ;
I was inquisitive to know why Felix appeared so miserable,
and Agatha so sad. I thought (foolish wretch !) that it
might be in my power to restore happiness to these deserv-
ing people. When I slept, or was absent, the forms of the
venerable blind father, the gentle Agatha, and the excellent
Felix, flitted before me. I looked upon them as superior
beings, who would be the arbiters of my future destiny. I
formed in my imagination a thousand pictures of presenting
myself to them, and their reception of me. I imagined
that they would be disgusted, until, by my gentle demeanour
and conciliating words, I should first win their favour, and
afterwards their love.

" These thoughts exhilarated me, and led me to apply
with fresh ardour to the acquiring the art of language.
My organs were indeed harsh, but supple ; and although
my voice was very unlike the soft music of their tones, yet
I pronounced such words as I understood with tolerable
ease. It was as the ass and the lap-dog j yet surely the
gentle ass whose intentions were affectionate, although his
manners were rude, deserved better treatment than blows
and execration.

" The pleasant showers and genial warmth of spring
greatly altered the aspect of the earth. Men, who before
this change seemed to have been hid in caves, dispersed
themselves, and were employed in various arts of cultiva-

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 99

tion. The birds sang in more cheerful notes, and the
leaves began to bud forth on the trees. Happy, happy
earth ! fit habitation for gods, which, so short a time before,
was bleak, damp, and unwholesome. My spirits were ele-
vated by the enchanting appearance of nature ; the past
was blotted from my memory, the present was tranquil, and
the future gilded by bright rays of hope, and anticipations
of joy."

CHAPTER XIII.

" I NOW hasten to the more moving part of my story. I
shall relate events, that impressed me with feelings which,
from what I had been, have made me what I am.

" Spring advanced rapidly ; the weather became fine,
and the skies cloudless. It surprised me, that what before
was desert and gloomy should now bloom with the most
beautiful flowers and verdure. My senses were gratified
and refreshed by a thousand scents of delight, and a thou-
sand sights of beauty.

" It was on one of these days, when my cottagers period-
ically rested from labour — the old man played on his
guitar, and the children listened to him — that I observed
the countenance of Felix was melancholy beyond expres-
sion ; he sighed frequently ; and once his father paused in
his music, and I conjectured by his manner that he en-
quired the cause of his son's sorrow. Felix replied in a
cheerful accent, and the old man was recommencing his
music, when some one tapped at the door.

" It was a lady on horseback, accompanied by a coun •
tryman as a guide. The lady was dressed in a dark suit,
and covered with a thick black veil. Agatha asked a ques-
tion ; to which the stranger only replied by pronouncing, in.
a sweet accent, the name of Felix. Her voice was musical,
but unlike that of either of my friends. On hearing this
word, Felix came up hastily to the lady ; who, when she
saw him, threw up her veil, and I beheld a countenance of
angelic beauty and expression. Her hair of a shining

H 2

100 FRANKENSTEIN; on,

raven black, and curiously braided; her eyes were dark,
but gentle, although animated ; her features of a regular
proportion, and her complexion wondrously fair, each cheek
tinged with a lovely pink.

" Felix seemed ravished with delight when he saw her,
every trait of sorrow vanished from his face, and it in-
stantly expressed a degree of ecstatic joy, of which I could
hardly have believed it capable ; his eyes sparkled, as his
cheek flushed with pleasure ; and at that moment I thought
him as beautiful as the stranger. She appeared affected by
different feelings ; wiping a few tears from her lovely eyes,
she held out her hand to Felix, who kissed it rapturously,
and called her, as well as I could distinguish, his sweet
Arabian. She did not appear to understand him, but
smiled. He assisted her to dismount, and dismissing her
guide, conducted her into the cottage. Some conversation
took place between him and his father; and the young
stranger knelt at the old man's feet, and would have kissed
his hand, but he raised her, and embraced her affectionately.

" I soon perceived, that although the stranger uttered
articulate sounds, and appeared to have a language of her
own, she was neither understood by, nor herself understood,
the cottagers. They made many signs jwhich I did not
comprehend; but I saw that her presence diffused gladness
through the cottage, dispelling their sorrow as the sun dissi-
pates the morning mists. Felix seemed peculiarly happy,
and with smiles of delight welcomed his Arabian. Agatha,
the ever-gentle Agatha, kissed the hands of the lovely stran-
ger ; and, pointing to her brother, made signs which ap-
peared to me to mean that he had been sorrowful until she
came. Some hours passed thus, while they, by their coun-
tenances, expressed joy, the cause of which I did not com-
prehend. Presently I found, by the frequent recurrence
of some sound which the stranger repeated after them, that
she was endeavouring to learn their language ; and the idea
instantly occurred to me, that I should make use of the
same instructions to the same end. The stranger learned
about twenty words at the first lesson, most of them, indeed,
were those which I had before understood, but I profited by
the others.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 101

fe As night came on, Agatha and the Arabian retired
early. When they separated, Felix kissed the hand of the
stranger, and said, e Good night, sweet Safie/ He sat up
much longer, conversing with his father ; and, by the fre-
quent repetition of her name, I conjectured that their lovely
guest was the subject of their conversation. I ardently
desired to understand them, and bent every faculty towards
that purpose, but found it utterly impossible.

(< The next morning Felix went out to his wt)rk ; and,
after the usual occupations of Agatha were finished, the
Arabian sat at the feet of the old man, and, taking his
guitar, played some airs so entrancingly beautiful, that they
at once drew tears of sorrow and delight from my eyes.
She sang, and her voice flowed in a rich cadence, swelling
or dying away, like a nightingale of the woods.

ce When she had finished, she gave the guitar to Agatha,
who at first declined it. She played a simple air, and her
voice accompanied it in sweet accents, but unlike the won-
drous strain of the stranger. The old man appeared en-
raptured, and said some words, which Agatha endeavoured
to explain to Safie, and by which he appeared to wish to
express that she bestowed on him the greatest delight by
her music.

" The days now passed as peaceably as before, with the
sole alteration, that joy had taken place of sadness in the
countenances of my friends. Safie was always gay and
happy ; she and I improved rapidly in the knowledge of
language, so that in two months I began to comprehend
most of the words uttered by my protectors.

" In the meanwhile also the black ground was covered
with herbage, and the green banks interspersed with innu-
merable flowers, sweet to the scent and the eyes, stars of
pale radiance among the moonlight woods ; the sun became
warmer, the nights clear and balmy ; and my nocturnal
rambles were an extreme pleasure to me, although they
were considerably shortened by the late setting and early
rising of the sun ; for I never ventured abroad during day-
light, fearful of meeting with the same treatment I had
formerly endured in the first village which I entered.

" My days were spent in close attention, that I might
H 3

102 FRANKENSTEIN; OB,

more speedily master the language ; and I may boast that
I improved more rapidly than the Arabian, who under-
stood very little, and conversed in broken accents, whilst I
comprehended and could imitate almost every word that was
spoken.

" While I improved in speech, I also learned the science
of letters, as it was taught to the stranger ; and this opened
before me a wide field for wonder and delight.

"The book from which Felix instructed Safie was Volney's
' Ruins of Empires/ I should not have understood the
purport of this book, had not Felix, in reading it, given
very minute explanations. He had chosen this work, he
said, because the declamatory style was framed in imitation
of the eastern authors. Through this work I obtained a
cursory knowledge of history, and a view of the several
empires at present existing in the world; it gave me an
insight into the manners, governments, and religions of the
different nations of the earth. I heard of the slothful
Asiatics; of the stupendous genius and mental activity of
the Grecians ; of the wars and wonderful virtue of the
early Romans — of their subsequent degenerating — of the
decline of that mighty empire ; of chivalry, Christianity,
and kings. I heard of the discovery of the American he-
misphere, and wept with Safie over the hapless fate of its
original inhabitants.

" These wonderful narrations inspired me with strange
feelings. Was man, indeed, at once so powerful, so vir-
tuous, and magnificent, yet so vicious and base ? He ap-
peared at one time a mere scion of the evil principle, and at
another, as all that can be conceived of noble and godlike.
To be a great and virtuous man appeared the highest honour
that can befall a sensitive being ; to be base and vicious, as
many on record have been, appeared the lowest degradation,
a condition more abject than that of the blind mole or
harmless worm. For a long time I could not conceive
how one man could go forth to murder his fellow, or even
why there were laws and governments ; but when I heard
details of vice and bloodshed, my wonder ceased, and I
turned away with disgust and loathing.

" Every conversation of the cottagers now opened new

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 103

wonders to me. While I listened to the instructions which
Felix bestowed upon the Arabian, the strange system of
human society was explained to me. I heard of the division
of property, of immense wealth and squalid poverty; of
rank, descent, and noble blood.

" The words induced me to turn towards myself. I
learned that the possessions most esteemed by your fellow-
creatures were, high and unsullied descent united with
riches. A man might be respected with only one of these
advantages ; but, without either, he was considered, ex-
cept in very rare instances, as a vagabond and a slave,
doomed to waste his powers for the profits of the chosen few !
And what was I ? Of my creation and creator I was ab-
solutely ignorant ; but I knew that I possessed no money,
no friends, no kind of property. I was, besides, endued
with a figure hideously deformed and loathsome; I was
not even of the same nature as man. I was more agile than
they, and could subsist upon coarser diet ; I bore the ex-
tremes of heat and cold with less injury to my frame ; my
stature far exceeded theirs. When I looked around, I
saw and heard of none like me. Was I then a monster, a
blot upon the earth, from which all men fled, and whom all
men disowned ?

" I cannot describe to you the agony that these re-
flections inflicted upon me : I tried to dispel them, but
sorrow only increased with knowledge. Oh, that I had for
ever remained in my native wood, nor known nor felt
beyond the sensations of hunger, thirst, and heat !

" Of what a strange nature is knowledge ! It clings to
the mind, when it has once seized on it, like a lichen on
the rock. I wished sometimes to shake off all thought and
feeling ; but I learned that there was but one means to
overcome the sensation of pain, and that was death — a
state which I feared yet did not understand. I admired
virtue and good feelings, and loved the gentle manners and
amiable qualities of my cottagers ; but I was shut out from
intercourse with them, except through means which I ob-
tained by stealth, when I was unseen and unknown, and
which rather increased than satisfied the desire I had of
becoming one among my fellows. The gentle words of
H 4

1 04* FRANKENSTEIN ; OB,

Agatha, and the animated smiles of the charming Arabian,
were not for me. The mild exhortations of the old man,
and the lively conversation of the loved Felix, were not for
me. Miserable, unhappy wretch !

" Other lessons were impressed upon me even more
deeply. I heard of the difference of sexes ; and the birth
and growth of children; how the father doated on the
smiles of the infant, and the lively sallies of the older child ;
how ah1 the life and cares of the mother were wrapped up
in the precious charge ; how the mind of youth expanded
and gained knowledge ; of brother, sister, and all the various
relationships which bind one human being to another in
mutual bonds.

' ' But where were my friends and relations ? No father
had watched my infant days, no mother had blessed me
with smiles and caresses ; or if they had, all my past life
was now a blot, a blind vacancy in which I distinguished
nothing. From my earliest remembrance I had been as I
then was in height and proportion. I had never yet seen
a being resembling me, or who claimed any intercourse with
me. What was I? The question again recurred, to be

answered only with groans.
" I will soon explain to \

to what these feelings tended ; but
allow me now to return to the cottagers, whose story excited
in me such various feelings of indignation, delight, and
wonder, but which all terminated in additional love and
reverence for my protectors (for so I loved, in an innocent,
half painful self-deceit, to call them).

CHAPTER XIV.

" SOME time elapsed before I learned the history of my
friends. It was one which could not fail to impress itself
deeply on my mind, unfolding as it did a number of cir-
cumstances, each interesting and wonderful to one so utterly
inexperienced as I was.

" The name of the old man was De Lacey. He was
descended from a good family in France, where he had

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 105

lived for many years in affluence, respected by his superiors,
and beloved by his equals. His son was bred in the service
of his country ; and Agatha had ranked with ladies of the
highest distinction. A few months before my arrival, they
had lived in a large and luxurious city, called Paris, sur-
rounded by friends, and possessed of every enjoyment which
virtue, refinement of intellect, or taste, accompanied by a
moderate fortune, could afford.

" The father of Safie had been the cause of their ruin.
He was a Turkish merchant, and had inhabited Paris for
many years, when, for some reason which I could not
learn, he became obnoxious to the government. He was
seized and cast into prison the very day that Safie arrived
from Constantinople to join him. He was tried, and con-
demned to death. The injustice of his sentence was very
flagrant ; all Paris was indignant ; and it was judged that
his religion and wealth, rather than the crime alleged against
him, had been the cause of his condemnation.

" Felix had accidentally been present at the trial ; his
horror and indignation were uncontrollable, when he heard
the decision of the court. He made, at that moment, a
solemn vow to deliver him, and then looked around for the
means. After many fruitless attempts to gain admittance
to the prison, he found a strongly grated window in an un-
guarded part of the building, which lighted the dungeon of
the unfortunate Mahometan; who, loaded with chains,
waited in despair the execution of the barbarous sentence.
Felix visited the grate at night, and made known to the
prisoner his intentions in his favour. The Turk, amazed
and delighted, endeavoured to kindle the zeal of his deli-
verer by promises of reward and wealth. Felix rejected
his offers with contempt j yet when he saw the lovely
Safie, who was allowed to visit her father, and who, by her
gestures, expressed her lively gratitude, the youth could
not help owning to his own mind, that the captive pos-
sessed a treasure which would fully reward his toil and
hazard.

:e The Turk quickly perceived the impression that his
daughter had made on the heart of Felix, and endeavoured
re him more entirely in his interests by the promise

-

106 FRANKENSTEIN; OB,

of her hand in marriage, so soon as he should he conveyed
to a place of safety. Felix was too delicate to accept this
offer ; yet he looked forward to the probability of the event
as to the consummation of his happiness.

" During the ensuing days, while the preparations were
going forward for the escape of the merchant, the zeal
of Felix was warmed by several letters that he received
from this lovely girl, who found means to express her
thoughts in the language of her lover by the aid of an old
man, a servant of her father, who understood French. She
thanked him in the most ardent terms for his intended ser-
vices towards her parent ; and at the same time she gently
deplored her own fate.

" I have copies of these letters ; for I found means,
during my residence in the hovel, to procure the imple-
ments of writing ; and the letters were often in the hands
of Felix or Agatha. Before I depart, I will give them to
you, they will prove the truth of my tale ; but at present,
as the sun is already far declined, I shall only have time to
repeat the substance of them to you.

" Safie related, that her mother was a Christian Arab,
seized and made a slave by the Turks j recommended by
her beauty, she had won the heart of the father of Safie,
who married her. The young girl spoke in high and en-
thusiastic terms of her mother, who, born in freedom,
spurned the bondage to which she was now reduced. She
instructed her daughter in the tenets of her religion, and
taught her to aspire to higher powers of intellect, and an
independence of spirit, forbidden to the female followers of
Mahomet. This lady died ; but her lessons were indelibly
impressed on the mind of Safie, who sickened at the pro-
spect of again returning to Asia, and being immured within
the walls of a haram, allowed only to occupy herself with
infantile amusements, ill suited to the temper of her
soul, now accustomed to grand ideas and a noble emulation
for virtue. The prospect of marrying a Christian, and
remaining in a country where women were allowed to take
a rank in society, was enchanting to her.

ff The day for the execution of the Turk was fixed ; but,
on the night previous to it, he quitted his prison, and be-

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 107

fore morning was distant many leagues from Paris. Felix
had procured passports in the name of his father, sister,
and himself. He had previously communicated his plan
to the former, who aided the deceit by quitting his house,
under the pretence of a journey, and concealed himself, with
his daughter, in an obscure part of Paris.

" Felix conducted the fugitives through France to Lyons,
and across Mont Cenis to Leghorn, where the merchant had
decided to wait a favourable opportunity of passing into
some part of the Turkish dominions.

" Safie resolved to remain with her father until the mo-
ment of his departure, before which time the Turk re-
newed his promise that she should be united to his deliverer;
and Felix remained with them in expectation of that event;
and in the mean time he enjoyed the society of the Arabian,
who exhibited towards him the simplest and tenderest af-
fection. They conversed with one another through the
means of an interpreter, arid sometimes with the interpret-
ation of looks ; and Safie sang to him the divine airs of her
native country.

" The Turk allowed this intimacy to take place, and
encouraged the hopes of the youthful lovers, while in his
hearj; he had formed far other plans. He loathed the idea that
his daughter should be united to a Christian ; but he feared
the resentment of Felix, if he should appear lukewarm ; for
he knew that he was still in the power of his deliverer, if
he should choose to betray him to the Italian state which
they inhabited. He revolved a thousand plans by which he
should be enabled to prolong the deceit until it might be no
longer necessary, and secretly to take his daughter with him
when he departed. His plans were facilitated by the news
which arrived from Paris.

" The government of France were greatly enraged at the
escape of their victim, and spared no pains to detect and
punish his deliverer. The plot of Felix was quickly dis-
covered, and De Lacey and Agatha were thrown into prison.
The news reached Felix, and roused him from' his dream
of pleasure. His blind and aged father, and his gentle
sister, lay in a noisome dungeon, while he enjoyed the free
v-ur, and the society of her whom he loved. This idea was

108 FRANKENSTEIN; OB,

torture to him. He quickly arranged with the Turks, that
if the latter should find a favourable opportunity for escape
before Felix could return to Italy, Safie should remain as a
boarder at a convent at Leghorn ; and then, quitting the
lovely Arabian, he hastened to Paris, and delivered him-
self up to the vengeance of the law, hoping to free De
Lacey and Agatha by this proceeding.

" He did not succeed. They remained confined for five
months before the trial took place ; the result of which
deprived them of their fortune, and condemned them to a
perpetual exile from their native country.

" They found a miserable asylum in the cottage in Ger-
many, where I discovered them. Felix soon learned that
the treacherous Turk, for whom he and his family endured
such unheard-of oppression, on discovering that his de-
liverer was thus reduced to poverty and ruin, became a
traitor to good feeling and honour, and had quitted Italy
with his daughter, insultingly sending Felix a pittance of
money, to aid him, as he said, in some plan of future main-
tenance.

" Such were the events that preyed on the heart of Felix,
and rendered him, when I first saw him, the most miser-
able of his family. He could have endured poverty ; and
while this distress had been the meed of his virtue, he
gloried in it : but the ingratitude of the Turk, and the loss
of his beloved Safie, were misfortunes more bitter and -ir-
reparable. The arrival of the Arabian now infused new-
life into his soul.

, " When the news reached Leghorn, that Felix was de-
prived of his wealth and rank, the merchant commanded
his daughter to think no more of her lover, but to prepare
to return to her native country. The generous nature of
Safie was outraged by this command ; she attempted to
expostulate with her father, but he left her angrily, reiter-
ating his tyrannical mandate.

" A few days after, the Turk entered his daughter's
apartment, and told her hastily, that he had reason to be-
lieve that his residence at Leghorn had been divulged, and
that he should speedily be delivered up to the French go-
vernment ; he had, consequently hired a vessel to convey

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 109

him to Constantinople,, for which city he should sail in a
few hours. He intended to leave his daughter under the
care of a confidential servant, to follow at her leisure with
the greater part of his property, which had not yet arrived
at Leghorn.

" When alone, Safie resolved in her own mind the plan
of conduct that it would become her to pursue in this emer-
gency. A residence in Turkey was abhorrent to her ; her
religion and her feelings were alike adverse to it. By some
papers of her father, which fell into her hands, she heard
of the exile of her lover, and learnt the name of the spot
where he then resided. She hesitated some time, but at
length she formed her determination. Taking with her
some jewels that belonged to her, and a sum of money, she
quitted Italy with an attendant, a native of Leghorn, but
who understood the common language of Turkey, and de-
parted for Germany.

" She arrived in safety at a town about twenty leagues
from the cottage of De Lacey, when her attendant fell
dangerously ill. Safie nursed her with the most devotee!
affection j but the poor girl died, and the Arabian was left
alone, unacquainted with the language of the country, and
utterly ignorant of the customs of the world. She fell,
however, into good hands. The Italian had mentioned the
name of the spot for which they were bound ; and, after
her death, the woman of the house in which they had lived
took care that Safie should arrive in safety at the cottage
of her lover.

CHAPTER XV.

" SUCH was the history of my beloved cottagers. It im-
pressed me deeply. I learned, from the views of social
life which it developed, to admire their virtues, and to
deprecate the vices of mankind.

" As yet I looked upon crime as a distant evil ; bene-
volence and generosity were ever present before me, inciting

110 FRANKENSTEIN; OB,

within me a desire to become an actor in the busy scene
where so many admirable qualities were called forth and
displayed. But, in giving an account of the progress of
my intellect, I must not omit a circumstance which oc-
curred in the beginning of the month of August of the same
year.

" One night, during my accustomed visit to the neigh-
bouring wood, where I collected my own food, and brought
home firing for my protectors, I found on the ground a
leathern portmanteau, containing several articles of dress
and some books. I eagerly seized the prize, and returned
with it to my hovel. Fortunately the books were written
in the language, the elements of which I had acquired at
the cottage ; they consisted of ' Paradise Lost,' a volume
of ' Plutarch's Lives/ and the ' Sorrows of Werter.' The
possession of these treasures gave me extreme delight ; I
now continually studied and exercised my mind upon these
histories, whilst my friends were employed in their ordi-
nary occupations.

" I can hardly describe to you the effect of these books.
They produced in me an infinity of new images and feel-
ings, that sometimes raised me to ecstacy, but more fre-
quently sunk me into the lowest dejection. In the ' Sorrows
of Werter/ besides the interest of its simple and affecting
story, so many opinions are canvassed, and so many lights
thrown upon what had hitherto been to me obscure sub-
jects, that I found in it a never-ending source of speculation
and astonishment. The gentle and domestic manners it
described, combined with lofty sentiments and feelings,
which had for their object something out of self, accorded
well with my experience among my protectors, and with
the wants which were for ever alive in my own bosom.
But I thought Werter himself a more divine being than I
had ever beheld or imagined ; his character contained no
pretension, but it sunk deep. The disquisitions upon death
and suicide were calculated to fill me with wonder. I did
not pretend to enter into the merits of the case, yet I in-
clined towards the opinions of the hero, whose extinction I
wept, without precisely understanding it.

" As I read, however, I applied much personally to my

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. Ill

own feelings and condition. I found myself similar, yet
at the same time strangely unlike to the beings concerning
whom I read, and to whose conversation I was a listener.
I sympathised with, and partly understood them, hut I was
unformed in mind ; I was dependent on none, and related
to none. ' The path of my departure was free ; ' and there
was nor,e to lament my annihilation. My person was
hideous, and my stature gigantic ? What did this mean ?
Who was I ? What was I ? Whence did I come ? What
was my destination ? These questions continually recurred,
but I was unable to solve them.

ee The volume of ' Plutarch's Lives/ which I possessed,
contained the histories of the first founders of the ancient
republics. This book had a far different effect upon me
from the ' Sorrows of Werter.' I learned from Werter's
imaginations despondency and gloom : but Plutarch taught
me high thoughts; he elevated me above the wretched
sphere of my own reflections, to admire and love the heroes
of past ages. Many things I read surpassed my under-
standing and experience. I had a very confused knowledge
of kingdoms, wide extents of country, mighty rivers, and
boundless seas. But I was perfectly unacquainted with
towns, and large assemblages of men. The cottage of my
protectors had been the only school in which I had studied
human nature ; but this book developed new and mightier
scenes of action. I read of men concerned in public affairs,
governing or massacring their species. I felt the greatest
ardour for virtue rise within me, and abhorrence for vice,
as far as I understood the signification of those terms, re-
lative as they were, as I applied them, to pleasure and pain
alone. Induced by these feelings, I was of course led to
admire peaceable lawgivers, Numa, Solon, and Lycurgus,
in preference to Romulus and Theseus. The patriarchal
lives of my protectors caused these impressions to take a
firm hold on my mind ; perhaps, if my first introduction
to humanity had been made by a young soldier, burning
for glory and slaughter, I should have been imbued with
different sensations.

" But ' Paradise Lost' excited different and far deeper
emotions. I read it, as I had read the other volumes which

112 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

had fallen into my hands, as a true history. It moved
every feeling of wonder and awe, that the picture of an
omnipotent God warring with his creatures was capable of
exciting. I often referred the several situations, as their
similarity struck me, to my own. Like Adam, I was ap-
parently united by no link to any other being in existence ;
but his state was far different from mine in every other
respect. He had come forth from the hands of God a per-
fect creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by the especial
care of his Creator ; he was allowed to converse with, and
acquire knowledge from, beings of a superior nature : but I
was wretched, helpless, and alone. Many times I con-
sidered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition ; for
often, like him, when I viewed the bliss of my protectors,
the bitter gall of envy rose within me.

" Another circumstance strengthened and confirmed these
feelings. Soon after my arrival in the hovel, I discovered
some papers in the pocket of the dress which I had taken
from your laboratory. At first I had neglected them ; but
now that I was able to decipher the characters in which
they were written, I began to study them with diligence.
It was your journal of the four months that preceded my
creation. You minutely described in these papers every
step you took in the progress of your work ; this history
was mingled with accounts of domestic occurrences. You,
doubtless, recollect these papers. Here they are. Every
thing is related in them which bears reference to my ac-
cursed origin ; the whole detail of that series of disgusting
circumstances which produced it, is set in view; the minutest
description of my odious and loathsome p srson is given, in
language which painted your own horrors, and rendered
mine indelible. I sickened as I read. ' Hateful day when
I received life ! ' I exclaimed in agony. f Accursed creator !
Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you
turned from me in disgust ? God, in pity, made man
beautiful and alluring, after his own image ; but my form
is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the very
resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow-devils, to
admire and encourage him ; but I am solitary and ab-
horred/

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 113

" These were the reflections of my hours of despond-
ency and solitude ; but when I contemplated the virtues of
the cottagers, their amiable and benevolent dispositions, I
persuaded myself that when they should become acquainted
with my admiration of their virtues, they would compas-
sionate me, and overlook my personal deformity. Could
they turn from their door one, however monstrous, who
solicited their compassion and friendship ? I resolved, at
least, not to despair, but in every way to fit myself for an
interview with them which would decide my fate. I post-
poned this attempt for some months longer ; for the im-
portance attached to its success inspired me with a dread
lest I should fail. Besides, I found that my understanding
improved so much with every day's experience, that I was
unwilling to commence this undertaking until a few more
months should have added to my sagacity.

" Several changes, in the mean time, took place in the
cottage. The presence of Safie diffused happiness among
its inhabitants ; and I also found that a greater degree of
plenty reigned there. Felix and Agatha spent more time in
amusement and conversation, and were assisted in their la-
bours by servants. They did not appear rich, but they were
contented and happy ; their feelings were serene and peace-
ful, while mine became every day more tumultuous. In-
crease of knowledge only discovered to me more clearly
what a wretched outcast I was. I cherished hope, it is
true ; but it vanished, when I beheld my person reflected
in water, or my shadow in the moonshine, even as that frail
image and that inconstant shade.

" I endeavoured to crush these fears, and to fortify my-
self for the trial which in a few months I resolved to
undergo ; and sometimes I allowed my thoughts, unchecked
by reason, to ramble in the fields of Paradise, and dared to
fancy amiable ard lovely creatures sympathising with my
feelings, and cheering my gloom; their angelic counte-
nances breathed smiles of consolation. But it was all a
dream ; no Eve soothed my sorrows, nor shared my thoughts;
I was alone. I remembered Adam's supplication to h'is
Creator. But where was mine? He had abandoned me-
and, in the bitterness of my heart, I cursed him.
i

114 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

" Autumn passed thus. I saw, with surprise and grief,
the leaves decay and fall, and nature again assume the bar-
ren and bleak appearance it had worn when I first beheld
the woods and the lovely moon. Yet I did not heed the
bleakness of the weather; I was better fitted by my con-
formation for the endurance of cold than heat. But my
chief delights were the sight of the flowers, the birds, and
all the gay apparel of summer ; when those deserted me, I
turned with more attention towards the cottagers. Their
happiness was not decreased by the absence of summer.
They loved, and sympathised with one another; and their
joys., depending on each other, were not interrupted by the
casualties that took place around them. The more I saw
of them, the greater became my desire to claim their pro-
tection and kindness ; my heart yearned to be known and
loved by these amiable creatures : to see their sweet looks
directed towards me with affection, was the utmost limit of
my ambition. I dared not think that they would turn
them from me with disdain and horror. The poor that
stopped at their door were never driven away. I asked, it
is true, for greater treasures than a little food or rest : I
required kindness and sympathy; but I did not believe
myself utterly unworthy of it.

" The winter advanced, and an entire revolution of the
seasons had taken place since I awoke into life. My at-
tention, at this time, was solely directed towards my plan
of introducing myself into the cottage of my protectors. I
revolved many projects ; but that on which I finally fixed
was, to enter the dwelling when the blind old man should
be alone. I had sagacity enough to discover, that the un-
natural hideousness of my person was the chief object of
horror with those who had formerly beheld me. My voice,
although harsh, had nothing terrible in it ; I thought,
therefore, that if, in the absence of his children, I could
gain the good-will and mediation of the old De Lacey, I
might, by his means, be tolerated by my younger pro-
tectors.

(( One day, when the sun shone on the red leaves that
strewed the ground, and diffused cheerfulness, although it
denied warmth, Safie, Agatha, and Felix departed on a

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 115

long country walk, and the old man, at his own desire, was
left alone in the cottage. When his children had departed,
he took up his guitar, and played several mournful but
sweet airs, more sweet and mournful than I had ever heard
him play before. At first his countenance was illuminated
with pleasure, but, as he continued, thoughtfulness and
sadness succeeded ; at length, laying aside the instrument,
he sat absorbed in reflection.

ee My heart beat quick ; this was the hour and moment
of trial, which would decide my hopes, or realise my fears.
The servants were gone to a neighbouring fair. All was
silent in and around the cottage : it was an excellent oppor-
tunity; yet, when I proceeded to execute my plan, my
limbs failed me, and I sank to the ground. Again I rose ;
and, exerting all the firmness of which I was master, re-
moved the planks which I had placed before my hovel to
conceal my retreat. The fresh air revived me, and, with
renewed determination, I approached the door of their
cottage.

" I knocked. ' Who is there ? ' said the old man — -
' Come in.'

" I entered ; f Pardon this intrusion,* said I : c I am a
traveller in want of a little rest ; you would greatly oblige
me, if you would allow me to remain a few minutes before
the fire.'

" ' Enter,' said De Lacey ; c and I will try in what
manner I can relieve your wants ; but, unfortunately, my
children are from home, and, as I am blind, I am afraid I
shall find it difficult to procure food for you.'

" ( Do not trouble yourself, my kind host, I have food ;
it is warmth and rest only that I need.'

" I sat down, and a silence ensued. I knew that every
minute was precious to me, yet I remained irresolute in
what manner to commence the interview ; when the old
man addressed me —

' By your language, stranger, I suppose you are my
countryman ; — are you French ?'

" ' No ; but I was educated by a French family, and
understand that language only. I am now going to claim
i 2

116 FRANKENSTEIN; OB,

the protection of some friends,, whom I sincerely love, and
of whose favour I have some hopes.'

" ' Are they Germans ? '

" f No, they are French. But let us change the sub-
ject. I am an unfortunate and deserted creature ; I look
around, and I have no relation or friend upon earth. These
amiable people to whom I go have never seen me, and
know little of me. I am full of fears ; for if I fail there,
I am an outcast in the world for ever/

" ' Do not despair. To be friendless is indeed to be
unfortunate ; but the hearts of men, when unprejudiced by
any obvious self-interest, are full of brotherly love and
charity. Rely, therefore, on your hopes ; and if these
friends are good and amiable, do not despair.'

" ' They are kind — they are the most excellent crea-
tures in the world ; but, unfortunately, they are prejudiced
against me. I have good dispositions ; my life has been
hitherto harmless, and in some degree beneficial; but a
fatal prejudice clouds their eyes, and where they ought to
see a feeling and kind friend, they behold only a detestable
monster.'

" ' That is indeed unfortunate ; but if you are really
blameless, cannot you undeceive them ? '

(e f I am about to undertake that task ; and it is on that
account that I feel so many overwhelming terrors. I ten-
derly love these friends ; I have, unknown to -them, been
for many months in the habits of daily kindness towards
them ; but they believe that I wish to injure them, and it
is that prejudice which I wish to overcome.'

" e Where do these friends reside ? '

" < Near this spot.'

" The old man paused, and then continued, ( If you
will unreservedly confide to me the particulars of your tale,
I perhaps may be of use in undeceiving them. I am blind,
and cannot judge of your countenance, but there is some-
thing in your words, which persuades me that you are sin-
cere. I am poor, and an exile ; but it will afford me
true pleasure to be in any way serviceable to a human
creature.'

" ' Excellent man ! I thank you, and accept your ge-

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 117

nerous offer. You raise me from the dust by this kindness;
and I trust that, by your aid, I shall not be driven from
the society and sympathy of your fellow- creatures.'

" e Heaven forbid ! even if you were really criminal ;
for that can only drive you to desperation, and not insti-
gate you to virtue. I also am unfortunate; I and my
family have been condemned, although innocent: judge,
therefore, if I do not feel for your misfortunes/

" ' How can I thank you, my best and only benefactor?
From your lips first have I heard the voice of kindness
directed towards me ; I shall be for ever grateful ; and your
present humanity assures me of success with those friends
whom I am on the point of meeting.'

" ' May I know the names and residence of those
friends?'

" I paused. This, I thought, was the moment of deci-
sion, which was to rob me of, or bestow happiness on me
for ever. I struggled vainly for firmness sufficient to
answer him, but the effort destroyed all my remaining
strength ; I sank on the chair, and sobbed aloud. At that
moment I heard the steps of my younger protectors. I had
not a moment to lose ; but, seizing the hand of the old
man, I cried, ' Now is the time ! — save and protect me !
You and your family are the friends whom I seek. Do
not you desert me in the hour of trial ! '

" ' Great God ! ' exclaimed the old man, c who are
you ? '

" At that instant the cottage door was opened, and Felix,
Safie, and Agatha entered. Who can describe their horror
and consternation on beholding me ? Agatha fainted ; and
Safie, unable to attend to her friend, rushed out of the
cottage. Felix darted forward, and with supernatural force
tore me from his father, to whose knees I clung: in a
transport of fury, he dashed me to the ground, and struck
me violently with a stick. I could have torn him limb
from limb, as the lion rends the antelope. But my heart
sunk within me as with bitter sickness, and I refrained.
I saw him on the point of repeating his blow, when, over-
come by pain and anguish, I quitted the cottage, and in the
general tumult escaped unperceived to my hovel,
i 3

118 FRANKENSTEIN ; OR,

CHAPTER XVI.

" CURSED, cursed creator ! Why did I live ? Why, in that
instant, did I not extinguish the spark of existence which
you had so wantonly bestowed ? I know not ; despair had
not yet taken possession of me ; my feelings were those of
rage and revenge. I could with pleasure have destroyed
the cottage and its inhabitants, and have glutted myself
with their shrieks and misery.

fc When night came, I quitted my retreat, and wandered
in the wood ; and now, no longer restrained by the fear of
discovery, I gave vent to my anguish in fearful howlings.
I was like a wild beast that had broken the toils; destroying
the objects that obstructed me, and ranging through the
wood with a stag-like swiftness. O ! what a miserable
night I passed ! the cold stars shone in mockery, and the
bare trees waved their branches above me : now and then
the sweet voice of a bird burst forth amidst the universal
stillness. All, save I, were at rest or in enjoyment : I,
like the arch-fiend, bore a hell within me; and, finding
myself unsympathised with, wished to tear up the trees,
spread havoc and destruction around me, and then to have
sat down and enjoyed the ruin.

" But this was a luxury of sensation that could not en-
dure ; I became fatigued with excess of bodily exertion,
and sank on the damp grass in the sick impotence of
despair. There was none among the myriads of men that
existed who would pity or assist me ; and should I feel
kindness towards my enemies ? No : from that moment I
declared everlasting war against the species, and, more than
all, against him who had formed me, and sent me forth to
this insupportable misery.

" The sun rose ; I heard the voices of men, and knew
that it was impossible to return to my retreat during that
day. Accordingly I hid myself in some thick underwood,
determining to devote the ensuing hours to reflection on my
situation.

" The pleasant sunshine, and the pure air of day, re-

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS.

stored me to some degree of tranquillity; and when I
considered what had passed at the cottage, I could not
help believing that I had been too hasty in my conclusions.
I had certainly acted imprudently. It was apparent that
my conversation had interested the father in my behalf, and
I was a fool in having exposed my person to the horror of
his children. I ought to have familiarised the old De Lacey
to me,, and by degrees to have discovered myself to the rest
of his family, when they should have been prepared for my
approach. But I did not believe my errors to be irre-
trievable ; and, after much consideration, I resolved to
return to the cottage, seek the old man, and by my repre-
sentations win him to my party.

" These thoughts calmed me, and in the afternoon I
sank into a profound sleep ; but the fever of my blood did
not allow me to be visited by peaceful dreams. The hor-
rible scene of the preceding day was for ever acting before
my eyes ^ the females were flying, and the enraged Felix
tearing me from his father's feet. I awoke exhausted;
and, rinding that it was already night, T crept forth from
my hiding-place, and went in search of food.

ff When my hunger was appeased, I directed my steps
towards the well-known path that conducted to the cottage.
All there was at peace. I crept into my hovel, and re-
mained in silent expectation of the accustomed hour when
the family arose. That hour passed, the sun mounted high
in the heavens, but the cottagers did not appear. I trembled
violently, apprehending some dreadful misfortune. The
inside of the cottage was dark, and I heard no motion ; I
cannot describe the agony of this suspense.

" Presently two countrymen passed by ; but, pausing
near the cottage, they entered into conversation, using vio-
lent gesticulations ; but I did not understand what they
said, as they spoke the language of the country, which dif-
fered from that of my protectors. Soon after, however,
Felix approached with another man : I was surprised, as I
knew that he had not quitted the cottage that morning, and
waited anxiously to discover, from his discourse, the mean-
ing of these unusual appearances.

" ' Do you consider/ said his companion to him, f that
i 4

120

FRANKENSTEIN ,' OB,

you will be obliged to pay three months' rent, and to lose
the produce of your garden ? I do not wish to take any
unfair advantage, and I beg therefore that you will take
some days to consider of your determination.'

" ' It is utterly useless/ replied Felix ; ( we can never
again inhabit your cottage. The life of my father is in
the greatest danger, owing to the dreadful circumstance
that I have related. My wife and my sister will never
recover their horror. I entreat you not to reason with me
any more. Take possession of your tenement, and let me
fly from this place.'

" Felix trembled violently as he said this. He and his
companion entered the cottage, in which they remained for
a few minutes, and then departed. I never saw any of the
family of De Lacey more.

" I continued for the remainder of the day in my hovel
in a 'state of utter and stupid despair. My protectors had
departed, and had broken the only link that held me to the
world. For the first time the feelings of revenge and
hatred filled my bosom, and I did not strive to control
them ; but, allowing myself to be borne away by the stream,
I bent my mind towards injury and death. When I
thought of my friends, of the mild voice of De Lacey, the
gentle eyes of Agatha, and the exquisite beauty of the
Arabian, these thoughts vanished, and a gush of tears
somewhat soothed me. But again, when I reflected that
they had spurned and deserted me, anger returned, a rage
of anger ; and, unable to injure any thing human, I turned
my fury towards inanimate objects. As night advanced, I
placed a variety of combustibles around the cottage ; and,
after having destroyed everf*Vestige of cultivation in the
garden, 1 waited with forced impatience until the moon
Jiad sunk to commence my operations.

(c As the night advanced, a fierce wind arose from the
woods, and quickly dispersed the clouds that had loitered
in the heavens : the blast tore along like a mighty avalanche,
and produced a kind of insanity in my spirits, that burst
all bounds of reason and reflection. I lighted the dry
branch of a tree, and danced with fury around the devoted
cottage, my eyes still fixed on the western horizon, the edge

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 121

of which the moon nearly touched. A part of its orb was
at length hid, and I waved my brand ; it sunk, and, with a
loud scream., I fired the straw, and heath, and bushes, which
I had collected. The wind fanned the fire, and the cottage
was quickly enveloped by the flames, which clung to it, and
licked it with their forked and destroying tongues.

fc As soon as I was convinced that no assistance could
save any part of the habitation, I quitted the scene,, and
sought for refuge in the woods.

" And now, with the world before me, whither should I
bend my steps ? I resolved to fly far from the scene of my
misfortunes ; but to me, hated and despised, every country
must be equally horrible. At length the thought of you
crossed my mind. I learned from your papers that you
were my father, my creator ; and to whom could I apply
with more fitness than to him who had given me life ?
Among the lessons that Felix had bestowed upon Safie,
geography had not been omitted : I had learned from these
the relative situations of the different countries of the earth.
You had mentioned Geneva as the name of your native
town ; and towards this place I resolved to proceed.

" But how was I to direct myself? I knew that I must
travel in a south- westerly direction to reach my destination;
but the sun was my only guide. I did not know the names
of the towns that I was to pass through, nor could I ask
information from a single human being ; but I did not
despair. From you only could I hope for succour, although
towards you I felt no sentiment but that of hatred. Un-
feeling, heartless creator ! you had endowed me with per-
ceptions and passions, and then cast me abroad an object
for the scorn and horror of mankind. But on you only
had I any claim for pity and redress, and from you I de-
termined to seek that justice which I vainly attempted to
gain from any other being that wore the human form.

" My travels were long, and the sufferings I endured
intense. It was late in autumn when I quitted the district
where I had so long resided. I travelled only at night,
fearful of encountering the visage of a human being. Na-
ture decayed around me, and the sun became heatless ; rain
and snow poured around me ; mighty rivers were frozen ;

122 FRANKENSTEIN ; OB,

the surface of the earth was hard and chill, and bare, and
I found no shelter. Oh, earth ! how often did I imprecate
curses on the cause of my being ! The mildness of my
nature had fled, and all within me was turned to gall and
bitterness. The nearer I approached to your habitation,
the more deeply did I feel the spirit of revenge enkindled
in my heart. Snow fell, and the waters were hardened; but
I rested not. A few incidents now and then directed me,
and I possessed a map of the country ; but I often wan-
dered wide from my path. The agony of my feelings al-
lowed me no respite : no incident occurred from which my
rage and misery could not extract its food ; but a circum-
stance 'that happened when I arrived on the confines of
Switzerland, when the sun had recovered its warmth, and
the earth again began to look green, confirmed in an especial
manner the bitterness and horror of my feelings.

" I generally rested during the day, and travelled only
when I was secured by night from the view of man. One
morning, however, finding that my path lay through a deep
wood, I ventured to continue my journey after the sun had
risen ; the day, which was one of the first of spring, cheered
even me by the loveliness of its sunshine and the balminess
of the air. I felt emotions of gentleness and pleasure, that
had long appeared dead, revive within me. Half surprised
by the novelty of these sensations, I allowed myself to be
borne away by them ; and, forgetting my solitude and de-
formity, dared to be happy. Soft tears again bedewed my
cheeks, and I even raised my humid eyes with thankfulness
towards the blessed sun which bestowed such joy upon me.

" I continued to wind among the paths of the wood,
until I came to its boundary, which was skirted by a deep
and rapid river, into which many of the trees bent their
branches, now budding with the fresh spring. Here I
paused, not exactly knowing what path to pursue, when I
heard the sound of voices, that induced me to conceal myself
under the shade of a cypress. I was scarcely hid, when a
young girl came running towards the spot where I was con-
cealed, laughing, as if she ran from some one in sport. She
continued her course along the precipitous sides of the river,
when suddenly her foot slipt, and she fell into the rapid

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 123

stream. I rushed from my hiding-place; and, with extreme
labour from the force of the current,, saved her, and dragged
her to shore. She was senseless ; and I endeavoured, by
every means in my power, to restore animation, when I was
suddenly interrupted by the approach of a rustic, who was
probably the person from whom she had playfully fled. On
seeing me, he darted towards me, and tearing the girl from
my arms, hastened towards the deeper parts of the wood.
I followed speedily, I hardly knew why ; but when the
man saw me draw near, he aimed a gun, which he carried,
at my body, and fired. I sunk to the ground, and my in-
jurer, with increased swiftness, escaped into the wood.

ff This was then the reward of my benevolence ! I had
saved a human being from destruction, and, as a recompense,
I now writhed under the miserable pain of a wound, which
shattered the flesh and bone. The feelings of kindness and
gentleness, which I had entertained but a few moments
before, gave place to hellish rage and gnashing of teeth.
Inflamed by pain, I vowed eternal hatred and vengeance to
all mankind. But the agony of my wound overcame me ;
my pulses paused, and I fainted.

fc For some weeks I led a miserable life in the woods,
endeavouring to cure the wound which I had received. The
ball had entered my shoulder, and I knew not whether it
had remained there or passed through ; at any rate I had
no means of extracting it. My sufferings were augmented
also by the oppressive sense of the injustice and ingratitude
of their infliction. My daily vows rose for revenge — a deep
and deadly revenge, such as would alone compensate for the
outrages and anguish I had endured.

" After some weeks my wound healed, and I continued
my journey. The labours I endured were no longer to be
alleviated by the bright sun or gentle breezes of spring ; all
joy was but a mockery, which insulted my desolate state,
and made me feel more painfully that I was not made for
the enjoyment of pleasure.

" But my toils now drew near a close ; and, in two
months from this time, I reached the environs of Geneva.

" It was evening when I arrived, and I retired to a
hiding-place among the fields that surround it, to meditate

14 FRANKENSTEIN ; OB,

in what manner I should apply to you. I was oppressed
by fatigue and hunger, and far too unhappy to enjoy the
gentle breezes of evening, or the prospect of the sun setting
behind the stupendous mountains of Jura.

f( At this time a slight sleep relieved me from the pain of
reflection, which was disturbed by the approach of a beautiful
child, who came running into the recess I had chosen, with
all the sportiveness of infancy. Suddenly, as I gazed on
him, an idea seized me, that this little creature was unpre-
judiced, and had lived too short a time to have imbibed a
horror of deformity. If, therefore, I could seize him, and
educate him as my companion and friend, I should not be
so desolate in this peopled earth.

" Urged by this impulse, I seized on the boy as he passed,
and drew him towards me. As soon as he beheld my form,
he placed his hands before his eyes, and uttered a shrill
scream : I drew his hand forcibly from his face, and said,
f Child, what is the meaning of this ? I do not intend to
hurt you ; listen to me/

"He struggled violently. 'Let me go/ he cried; ' monster!
ugly wretch ! you wish to eat me, and tear me to pieces —
You are an ogre — Let me go, or I will tell my papa.'

" ' Boy, you will never see your father again ; you must
come with me.'

" ' Hideous monster ! let me go. My papa is a Syndic
— he is M. Frankenstein — he will punish you. You dare
not keep me.'

" e Frankenstein ! you belong then to my enemy — to
him towards whom I have sworn eternal revenge ; you shall
be my first victim.'

" The child still struggled, and loaded me with epithets
which carried despair to my heart ; I grasped his throat to
silence him, and in a moment he lay dead at my feet.

e< I gazed on my victim, and my heart swelled with ex-
ultation and hellish triumph : clapping my hands, I ex-
claimed, c I, too, can create desolation ; my enemy is not
invulnerable ; this death will carry despair to him, and a
thousand other miseries shall torment and destroy him/

" As I fixed my eyes on the child, I saw something
glittering on his breast. I took it ; it was a portrait of a

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 125

most lovely woman. In spite of my malignity, it softened
and attracted me. For a few moments I gazed with delight
on her dark eyes, fringed by deep lashes, and her lovely
lips ; but presently my rage returned : I remembered that
I was for ever deprived of the delights that such beautiful
creatures could bestow ; and that she whose resemblance I
contemplated would, in regarding me, have changed that
air of divine benignity to one expressive of disgust and
affright.

(f Can you wonder that such thoughts transported me
with rage ? I only wonder that at that moment, instead of
venting- my sensations in exclamations and agony, I did not
rush among mankind, and perish in the attempt to destroy them.

ft While I was overcome by these feelings, I left the spot
where I had committed the murder, and seeking a more se
eluded hiding-place, I entered a barn which had appeared
to me to be empty. A woman was sleeping on some straw;
she was young : not indeed so beautiful as her whose por-
trait I held j but of an agreeable aspect, and blooming in
the loveliness of youth and health. Here, I thought, is one
of those whose joy-imparting smiles are bestowed on all but
me. And then I bent over her, and whispered ' Awake,
fairest, thy lover is near — he who would give his life but to
obtain one look of affection from thine eyes : my beloved,
awake ! '

" The sleeper stirred ; a thrill of terror ran through me.
Should she indeed awake, and see me, and curse me, and
denounce the murderer ? Thus would she assuredly act, if
her darkened eyes opened, and she beheld me. The thought
was madness; it stirred the fiend within me — not I, but
she shall suffer: the murder I have committed because I
am for ever robbed of all that she could give me, she shall
atone. The crime had its source in her : be hers the
punishment ! Thanks to the lessons of Felix and the san-
guinary laws of man, I had learned now to work mischief.
I bent over her, and placed the portrait securely in one of
the folds of her dress. She moved again, and I fled.

<e For some days I haunted the spot where these scenes
had taken place ; sometimes wishing to see you, some-
times resolved to quit the world and its miseries for ever.

126

FRANKENSTEIN ! OR,

At length I wandered towards these mountains,, and have
ranged through their immense recesses., consumed by a
burning passion which you alone can gratify. We may
not part until you have promised to comply with my requi-
sition. I am alone, and miserable ; man will not associate
with me ; but one as deformed and horrible as myself
would not deny herself to me. My companion must be of
the same species, and have the same defects. This being
you must create."

CHAPTER XVII.

THE being finished speaking, and fixed his looks upon me
in expectation of a reply. But I was bewildered, perplexed,
and unable to arrange my ideas sufficiently to understand
the full extent of his proposition. He continued —

" You must create a female for me, with whom I can
live in the interchange of those sympathies necessary for
my being. This you alone can do ; and I demand it of you
as a right which you must not refuse to concede."

The latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the
anger that had died away while he narrated his peaceful
life among the cottagers, and, as he said this, I could no
longer suppress the rage that burned within me.

" I do refuse it," I replied ; " and no torture shall ever
extort a consent from me. You may render me the most
miserable of men, but you shall never make me base in my
own eyes. Shall I create another like yourself, whose joint
wickedness might desolate the world. Begone ! I have
answered you ; you may torture me, but I will never con-
sent."

" You are in the wrong," replied the fiend ; " and, in-
stead of threatening, I am content to reason with you. I
am malicious because I am miserable. Am I not shunned
and hated by all mankind ? You, my creator, would tear
me to pieces, and triumph ; remember that, and tell me
why I should pity man more than he pities me ? You would

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 127

not call it murder, if you could precipitate me into one
of those ice-rifts, and destroy my frame, the work of your
own hands. Shall I respect man, when he contemns me ?
Let him live with me in the interchange of kindness ; and,
instead of injury, I would bestow every benefit upon him
with tears of gratitude at his acceptance. But that cannot
be ; the human senses are insurmountable barriers to our
union. Yet mine shall not be the submission of abject
slavery. I will revenge my injuries : if I cannot inspire
love, I will cause fear ; and chiefly towards you my arch-
enemy, because my creator, do I swear inextinguishable
hatred. Have a care : I will work at your destruction, nor
finish until I desolate your heart, so that you shall curse
the hour of your birth."

A fiendish rage animated him as he said this ; his face
was wrinkled into contortions too horrible for human eyes
to behold; but presently he calmed himself and pro-
ceeded —

" I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to
me ; for you do not reflect that you are the cause of its
excess. If any being felt emotions of benevolence towards
me, I should return them an hundred and an hundred
fold ; for that one creature's sake, I would make peace with
the whole kind ! But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that
cannot be realised. What I ask of you is reasonable and
moderate ; I demand a creature of another sex, but as
hideous as myself; the gratification is small, but it is all
that I can receive, and it shall content me. It is true, we
shall be monsters, cut off from all the world ; but on that
account we shall be more attached to one another. Our
lives will not be happy, but they will be harmless, and free
from the misery I now feel. Oh ! my creator, make me
happy ; let me feel gratitude towards you for one benefit 1
Let me see that I excite the sympathy of some existing
thing ; do not deny me my request ! "

I was moved. I shuddered when I thought of the pos-
sible consequences of my consent ; but I felt that there was
some justice in his argument. His tale, and the feelings
he now expressed, proved him to be a creature of fine sen-
sations ; and did I not as his maker, owe him all the portion

128 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

of happiness that it was in my power to bestow ? He saw
my change of feeling, and continued —

" If you consent, neither you nor any other human being
shall ever see us again : I will go to the vast wilds of South
America. My food is not that of man ; I do not destroy
the lamb and the kid to glut my appetite; acorns and
berries afford me sufficient nourishment. My companion
will be of the same nature as myself, and will be content
with the same fare. We shall make our bed of dried
leaves ; the sun will shine on us as on man, and will ripen
our food. The picture I present to you is peaceful and
human, and you must feel that you could deny it only in
the wantonness of power and cruelty. Pitiless as you have
been towards me, I now see compassion in your eyes ; let
me seize the favourable moment, and persuade you to pro-
mise what I so ardently desire."

fe You propose," replied I, " to fly from the habitations
of man, to dwell in those wilds where the beasts of the
field will be your only companions. How can you, who
long for the love and sympathy of man, persevere in this
exile ? You will return, and again seek their kindness, and
you will meet with their detestation ; your evil passions
will be renewed, and you will then have a companion to aid
you in the task of destruction. This may not be : cease
to argue the point, for I cannot consent."

" How inconstant are your feelings ! but a moment ago
you were moved by my representations, and why do you
again harden yourself to my complaints ? I swear to you,
by the earth which I inhabit, and by you that made me,
that, with the companion you bestow, I will quit the neigh-
bourhood of man, and dwell as it may chance, in the most
savage of places. My evil passions will have fled, for I
shall meet with sympathy ! my life will flow quietly
away, and, in my dying moments, I shall not curse my
maker."

His words had a strange effect upon me. I compas-
sionated him, and sometimes felt a wish to console him ;
but when I looked upon him, when I saw the filthy mass
that moved and talked, my heart sickened, and my feelings
were altered to those of horror and hatred. I tried to

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 129

stifle these sensations ; I thought, that as I could not sym-
pathise with him, I had no right to withhold from him the
small portion of happiness which was yet in my power to
bestow.

' ' You swear/' I said, " to be harmless ; but have you
not already shown a degree of malice that should reason-
ably make me distrust you ? May not even this be a feint
that will increase your triumph by affording a wider scope
for your revenge/'

1 ' How is this ? I must not be trifled with : and I de-
mand an answer. If I have no ties and no affections,
hatred and vice must be my portion ; the love of another
will destroy the cause ef my crimes, and I shall become a
thing, of whose existence every one will be ignorant. My
vices are the children of a forced solitude that I abhor ; and
my virtues will necessarily arise when I live in communion
with an equal. I shall feel the affections of a sensitive
being, and become linked to the chain of existence and
events, from which I am now excluded."

I paused some time to reflect on all he had related, and
the various arguments which he had employed. I thought
of the promise of virtues which he had displayed on the
opening of his existence, and the subsequent blight of all
kindly feeling by the loathing and scorn which his pro-
tectors had manifested towards him. His power and
threats were not omitted in my calculations : a creature who
could exist in the ice-caves of the glaciers, and hide himself
from pursuit among the ridges of inaccessible precipices,
was a being possessing faculties it would be vain to cope
with. After a long pause of reflection, I concluded that
the justice due both to him and my fellow-creatures de-
manded of me that I should comply with his request.
Turning to him, therefore, I said —

" I consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to
quit Europe for ever, and every other place in the neigh-
bourhood of man, as soon as I shall deliver into your
hands a female who will accompany you in your exile."

" I swear," he cried, " by the sun, and by the blue sky
of Heaven, and by the fire of love that burns my heart,
that if you grant my prayer, while they exist you shall

K

130 FRANKENSTEIN ; OH,

never behold me again. Depart to your home, and com-
mence your labours : I shall watch their progress with
unutterable anxiety ; and fear not but that when you are
ready I shall appear."

Saying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful, perhaps,
of any change in my sentiments. I saw him descend the
mountain with greater speed than the flight of an eagle,
and quickly lost among the undulations of the sea of ice.

His tale had occupied the whole day ; and the sun was
upon the verge of the horizon when he departed. I knew
that I ought to hasten my descent towards the valley, as I
should soon be encompassed in darkness; but my heart was
heavy, and my steps slow. The labour of winding among the
little paths of the mountains, and fixing my feet firmly as
I advanced, perplexed me, occupied as I was by the emo-
tions which the occurrences of the day had produced.
Night was far advanced, when I came to the half- way
resting-place, and seated myself beside the fountain. The
stars shone at intervals, as the clouds passed from over
them ; the dark pines rose before me, and every here and
there a broken tree lay on the ground : it was a scene of
wonderful solemnity, and stirred strange thoughts within
me. I wept bitterly ; and clasping my hands in agony, I
exclaimed, " Oh ! stars and clouds, and winds, ye are all
about to mock me : if ye really pity me, crush sensation
and memory ; let me become as nought ; but if not,
depart, depart, and leave me in darkness."

These were wild and miserable thoughts ; but I cannot
describe to you how the eternal twinkling of the stars
weighed upon me, and how I listened to every blast of
wind, as if it were a dull ugly siroc on its way to consume
me.

Morning dawned before I arrived at the village of Cha-
mounix ; I took no rest, but returned immediately to
Geneva. Even in my own heart I could give no expres-
sion to my sensations — they weighed on me with a moun-
tain's weight, and their excess destroyed my agony beneath
them. Thus I returned home, and entering the house,
presented myself to the family. My haggard and wild
appearance awoke intense alarm ; but I answered no ques-

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 131

tion, scarcely did I speak. I felt as if I were placed under
a ban — as if I had no right to claim their sympathies —
as if never more might I enjoy companionship with them.
Yet even thus I loved them to adoration ; and to save them,
I resolved to dedicate myself to my most abhorred task.
The prospect of such an occupation made every other cir-
cumstance of existence pass before me like a dream; and
that thought only had to me the reality of life.

CHAPTER XVIII,

DAY after day, week after week, passed away on my return
to Geneva; and I could not collect the courage to re-
commence my work. I feared the vengeance of the disap-
pointed fiend, yet I was unable to overcome my repugnance
to the task which was enjoined me. I found that I could
not compose a female without again devoting several months
to profound study and laborious disquisition. I had heard
of some discoveries having been made by an English phi-
losopher, the knowledge of which was material to my success,
and I sometimes thought of obtaining my father's consent
to visit England for this purpose; but I clung to every
pretence of delay, and shrunk from taking the first step in
an undertaking whose immediate necessity began to appear
less absolute to me. A change indeed had taken place in
me : my health, which had hitherto declined, was now much
restored ; and my spirits, when unchecked by the memory
of my unhappy promise, rose proportion ably. My father
saw this change with pleasure, and he turned his thoughts
towards the best method of eradicating the remains of my
melancholy, which every now and then would return by fits,
and with a devouring blackness overcast the approaching
sunshine. At these moments 1 took refuge in the most
perfect solitude. I passed whole days on the lake alone in
a little boat, watching the clouds, and listening to the
rippling of the waves, silent and listless. But the fresh air
and bright sun seldom failed to restore me to some degree
K 2

FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

of composure ; and, on my return,, I met the salutations of
my friends with a readier smile and a more cheerful heart.

It was after my return from one of these rambles, that
my father, calling me aside, thus addressed me : —

" I am happy to remark, my dear son, that you have
resumed your former pleasures, and seem to he returning to
yourself. And yet you are still unhappy, and still avoid
our society. For some time I was lost in conjecture as to
the cause of this ; but yesterday an idea struck me, and if
it is well founded, I conjure you to avow it. Reserve on
such a point would be not only useless, but draw down
treble misery on us all."

I trembled violently at his exordium, and my father con-
tinued —

" I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward
to your marriage with our dear Elizabeth as the tie of our
domestic comfort, and the stay of my declining years. You
were attached to each other from your earliest infancy ;
you studied together, and appeared, in dispositions and
tastes, entirely suited to one another. But so blind is the
experience of man, that what I conceived to be the best
assistants to rny plan, may have entirely destroyed it. You,
perhaps, regard her as your sister, without any wish that
she might become your wife. Nay, you may have met
with another whom you may love ; and, considering yourself
as bound in honour to Elizabeth, this struggle may occasion
the poignant misery which you appear to feel/*

ff My dear father, re-assure yourself. I love my cousin
tenderly and sincerely. I never saw any woman who ex-
cited, as Elizabeth does, my warmest admiration and affec-
tion. My future hopes and prospects are entirely bound
up in the expectation of our union."

" The expression of your sentiments of this subject, my
dear Victor, gives me more pleasure than I have for some
time experienced. If you feel thus, we shall assuredly be
happy, however present events may cast a gloom over us.
But it is this gloom which appears to have taken so strong
a hold of your mind, that I wish to dissipate. Tell me,
therefore, whether you object to an immediate solemnis-
ation of the marriage. We have been unfortunate, and

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 133

recent events have drawn us from that every-day tranquil,
lity befitting my years and infirmities. You are younger;
yet I do not suppose, possessed as you are of a competent
fortune, that an early marriage would at all interfere with
any future plans of honour and utility that you may have
formed. Do not suppose, however, that I wish to dictate
happiness to you, or that a delay on your part would cause
me any serious uneasiness. Interpret my words with can-
dour, and answer me, I conjure you, with confidence and
sincerity."

I listened to my father in silence, and remained for some
time incapable of offering any reply. I revolved rapidly
in my mind a multitude of thoughts, and endeavoured to
arrive at some conclusion. Alas ! to me the idea of an
immediate union with my Elizabeth was one of horror
and dismay. I was bound by a solemn promise, which
I had not yet fulfilled, and dared not break ; or, if I did,
what manifold miseries might not impend over me and my
devoted family ! Could I enter into a festival with this
ileadly weight yet hanging round my neck, and bowing me
to the ground. I must perform my engagement, and
let the monster depart with his mate, before I allowed my-
self to enjoy the delight of an union from which I expected
peace.

I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of
either journeying to England, or entering into a long cor-
respondence with those philosophers of that country, whose
knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable use to
me in my present undertaking. The latter method of ob-
taining the desired intelligence was dilatory and unsatis-
factory : besides, I had an insurmountable aversion to the
idea of engaging myself in my loathsome task in my
father's house, while in habits of familiar intercourse with
those I loved. I knew that a thousand fearful accidents
might occur, the slightest of which would disclose a tale to
thrill all connected with me with horror. I was aware als/>
that I should often lose all self-command, all capacity of
hiding the harrowing sensations that would possess me
during the progress of my unearthly occupation. I must
absent myself from all I loved while thus employed. Once

K3

134,

FRANKENSTEIN ! OR,

commenced, it would quickly be achieved, and I might be
restored to my family in peace and happiness. My pro-
mise fulfilled, the monster would depart for ever. Or (so
my fond fancy imaged) some accident might meanwhile
occur to destroy him, and put an end to my slavery for ever.

These feelings dictated my answer to my father. I ex-
pressed a wish to visit England ; but, concealing the true
reasons of this request, I clothed my desires under a guise
which excited no suspicion, while I urged my desire with an
earnestness that easily induced my father to comply. After
so long a period of an absorbing melancholy, that resembled
madness in its intensity and effects, he was glad to find that
I was capable of taking pleasure in the idea of such a jour-
ney, and he hoped that change of scene and varied amuse-
ment would, before my return, have restored me entirely to
myself.

The duration of my absence was left to my own choice;
a few months, or at most a year, was the period contem-
plated. One paternal kind precaution he had taken to
ensure my having a companion. Without previously com-
municating with me, he had, in concert with Elizabeth,
arranged that Clerval should join me at Strasburgh. This
interfered with the solitude I coveted for the prosecution of
my task ; yet at the commencement of my journey the pre-
sence of my friend could in no way be an impediment, and
truly I rejoiced that thus I should be saved many hours of
lonely, maddening reflection. Nay, Henry might stand
between me and the intrusion of my foe. If I were alone,
would he not at times force his abhorred presence on me,
to remind me of my task, or to contemplate its progress ?

To England, therefore, I was bound, and it was under-
stood that my union with Elizabeth should take place im-
mediately on my return. My father's age rendered him
extremely averse to delay. For myself, there was one
reward I promised myself from my detested toils — one
consolation for my unparalleled sufferings ; it was the
prospect of that day when, enfranchised from my miserable
slavery, I might claim Elizabeth, and forget the past in
my union with her.

I now made arrangements for my journey; but one

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 135

feeling haunfed me, which filled me with fear and agitation.
During my absence I should leave my friends unconscious
of the existence of their enemy, and unprotected from his
attacks, exasperated as he might be by my departure. But
he had promised to follow me wherever I might go ; and
would he not accompany me to England ? This imagination
was dreadful in itself, but soothing, inasmuch as it sup-
posed the safety of my friends. I was agonised with 'the
idea of the possibility that the reverse of this might happen.
But through the whole period during which I was the slave
of my creature, I allowed myself to be governed by the
impulses of the moment; and my present sensations strongly
intimated that the fiend would follow me, and exempt my
family from the danger of his machinations.

It was in the latter end of September that I again quitted
my native country. My journey had been my own sug-
gestion, and Elizabeth, therefore, acquiesced : but she was
filled with disquiet at the idea of my suffering, away from
her, the inroads of misery and grief. It had been her care
which provided me a companion in Clerval — and yet a
man is blind to a thousand minute circumstances, which
call forth a woman's sedulous attention. She longed to bid
me hasten my return, — a thousand conflicting emotions
rendered her mute, as she bade me a tearful silent fare-
well.

I threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me
away, hardly knowing whither I was going, and careless
of what was passing around. I remembered only, and it
was with a bitter anguish that I reflected on it, to order
that my chemical instruments should be packed to go with
me. Filled with dreary imaginations, I passed through
many beautiful and majestic scenes; but my eyes were
fixed and unobserving. I could only think of the bourne
of my travels, and the work which was to occupy me whilst
they endured.

After some days spent in listless indolence, during which
I traversed many leagues, I arrived at Strasburgh, where I
waited two days for Clerval. He came. Alas, how great
was the contrast between us ! He was alive to every new
scene ; joyful when he saw the beauties of the setting sun,
K 4

136

FRANKENSTEIN ' OK,

and more happy when he beheld it rise, and recommence a
new day. He pointed out to me the shifting colours of the
landscape, and the appearances of the sky. " This is what
it is to live," he cried, e ' now I enjoy existence ! But you,
my dear Frankenstein, wherefore are you desponding and
sorrowful ! " In truth, I was occupied by gloomy thoughts,
and neither saw the descent of the evening star, nor the
golden sunrise reflected in the Rhine. — And you, my
friend, would be far more amused with the journal of
Clerval, who observed the scenery with an eye of feeling
and delight, than in listening to my reflections. I, a miser-
able wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue
to enjoyment.

We had agreed to descend the Rhine in a boat from
Strasburgb to Rotterdam, whence we might take shipping
for London. During this voyage, we passed many willowy
islands, and saw several beautiful towns. We stayed a day
at Manheim, and, on the fifth from our departure from
Strasburgh, arrived at Mayence. The course of the Rhine
below Mayence becomes much more picturesque. The river
descends rapidly, and winds between hills, not high, but
steep, and of beautiful forms. We saw many ruined castles
standing on the edges of precipices, surrounded by black
woods, high and inaccessible. This part of the Rhine,
indeed, presents a singularly variegated landscape. In one
spot you view rugged hills, ruined castles overlooking tre-
mendous precipices, with the dark Rhine rushing beneath ;
and, on the sudden turn of a promontory, flourishing vine-
yards, with green sloping banks, and a meandering river,
and populous towns occupy the scene.

We travelled at the time of the vintage, and heard the
song of the labourers, as we glided .down the stream. Even
I, depressed in mind, and my spirits continually agitated
by gloomy feelings, even I was pleased. I lay at the bot-
tom of the boat, and, as I gazed on the cloudless blue sky,
I seemed to drink in a tranquillity to which I had long been
a stranger. And if these were my sensations, who can
describe those of Henry ? He felt as if he had been trans-
ported to Fairy-land, and enjoyed a happiness seldom tasted
by man. " I have seen," he said, (( the most beautiful

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 137

scenes of my own country; I have visited the lakes of Lu-
cerne and Uri, where the snowy mountains descend almost
perpendicularly to the water, casting black and impenetrable
shades, which would cause a gloomy and mournful appear-
ance, were it not for the most verdant islands that relieve
the eye by their gay appearance; I have seen this lake
agitated by a tempest, when the wind tore up whirlwinds
of water, and gave you an idea of what the water-spout
must be on the great ocean ; and the waves dash with fury
the base of the mountain, where the priest and his mis-
tress were overwhelmed by an avalanche, and where their
dying voices are still said to be heard amid the pauses of
the nightly wind ; I have seen the mountains of La Valais,
and the Pays de Vaud : but this country, Victor, pleases
ine more than all those wonders. The mountains of Swit-
zerland are more majestic and strange ; but there is a charm
in the banks of this divine river, that I never before saw
equalled. Look at that castle which overhangs yon preci-
pice ; and that also on the island, almost concealed amongst
the foliage of those lovely trees j and now that group of
labourers coming from among their vines ; and that village
half hid in the recess of the mountain. Oh, surely, the
spirit that inhabits and guards this place has a soul more
in harmony with man, than those who pile the glacier, or
retire to the inaccessible peaks of the mountains of our own
country."

Clerval ! beloved friend ! even now it delights me to
record your words, and to dwell on the praise of which you
are so eminently deserving. He was a being formed in
the " very poetry of nature." His wild and enthusiastic
imagination was chastened by the sensibility of his heart.
His soul overflowed with ardent affections, and his friend-
ship was of that devoted and wondrous nature that the
worldly-minded teach us to look for only in the imagin-
ation. But even human sympathies were not sufficient to
satisfy his eager mind. The scenery of external nature,
which others regard only with admiration, he loved with
ardour : —

138 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

• — — " The sounding cataract

Haunted him like a passion : the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to him
An appetite ; a feeling, and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, or any interest
UnborrowM from the eye "*

And where does he now exist ? Is this gentle and lovely
being lost for ever? Has this mind, so replete with ideas,
imaginations fanciful and magnificent, which formed a
world, whose existence depended on the life of its creator ;
— has this mind perished? Does it now only exist in my
memory ? No, it is not thus ; your form so divinely wrought,
and beaming with beauty, has decayed, but your spirit still
visits and consoles your unhappy friend.

Pardon this gush of sorrow ; these ineffectual words are
but a slight tribute to the unexampled worth of Henry,
but they soothe my heart, overflowing with the anguish
which his remembrance creates. I will proceed with my
tale.

Beyond Cologne we descended to the plains of Holland ;
and we resolved to post the remainder of our way ; for the
wind was contrary, and the stream of the river was too
gentle to aid us.

Our journey here lost the interest arising from beautiful
scenery; but we arrived in a few days at Rotterdam, whence
we proceeded by sea to England. It was on a clear morn-
ing, in the latter days of December, that I first saw the
white cliffs of Britain. The banks of the Thames pre-
sented a new scene ; they were flat, but fertile, and almost
every town was marked by the remembrance of some story.
We saw Tilbury Fort, and remembered the Spanish ar-
mada ; Gravesend, Woolwich, and Greenwich, places which
I had heard of even in my country.

At length we saw the numerous steeples of London,
St. Paul's towering above all, and the Tower famed in
English history.

* Wordsworth's Tintern Abbey.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 139

CHAPTER XIX.

LONDON was our present point of rest ; we determined to
remain several months in this wonderful and celebrated
city. Clerval desired the intercourse of the men of genius
and talent who flourished at this time ; but this was with
me a secondary object ; I was principally occupied with the
means of obtaining the information necessary for the com-
pletion of my promise, and quickly availed myself of the
letters of introduction that I had brought with me, ad-
dressed to the most distinguished natural philosophers.

If this journey had taken place during my days of study
and happiness, it would have afforded me inexpressible
pleasure. But a blight had come over my existence, and
I only visited these people for the sake of the information
they might give me on the subject in which my interest
was so terribly profound. Company was irksome to me ;
when alone, 1 could fill my mind with the sights of heaven
and earth ; the voice of Henry soothed me, and I could
thus cheat myself into a transitory peace. But busy unin-
teresting joyous faces brought back despair to my heart. I
saw an insurmountable barrier placed between me and my
fellow-men ; this barrier was sealed with the blood of Wil-
liam and Justine ; and to reflect on the events connected
with those names filled my soul with anguish.

But in Clerval I saw the image of my former self; he
was inquisitive, and anxious to gain experience and instruc-
tion. The difference of manners which he observed was to
him an inexhaustible source of instruction and amusement.
He was also pursuing an object he had long had in view.
His design was to visit India, in the belief that he had in
his knowledge of its various languages, and in the views he
had taken of its society, the means of materially assisting
the progress of European colonisation and trade. In Britain
only could he further the execution of his plan. He was for
ever busy; and the only check to his enjoyments was my
sorrowful and dejected mind. I tried to conceal this as
much as possible, that I might not debar him from the

140 FRANKENSTEIN ; OR,

pleasures natural to one, who was entering on a new scene
of life, undisturbed by any care or bitter recollection. I
often refused to accompany him, alleging another engage-
ment, that I might remain alone. I now also began to
collect the materials necessary for my new creation, and
this was to me like the torture of single drops of water
continually falling on the head. Every thought that was
devoted to it was an extreme anguish, and every word that
I spoke in allusion to it caused my lips to quiver, and my
heart to palpitate.

After passing some months in London, we received a
letter from a person in Scotland, who had formerly been
our visiter at Geneva. He mentioned the beauties of his
native country, and asked us if those were not sufficient
allurements to induce us to prolong our journey as far north
as Perth, where he resided. Clerval eagerly desired to
accept this invitation ; and I, although I abhorred society,
wished to view again mountains and streams, and all the
wondrous works with which Nature adorns her chosen
dwelling-places.

We had arrived in England at the beginning of October,
and it was now February. We accordingly determined to
commence our journey towards the north at the expiration
of another month. In this expedition we did not intend
to follow the great road to Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor,
Oxford, Matlock, and the Cumberland lakes, resolving to
arrive at the completion of this tour about the end of July.
I packed up my chemical instruments, and the materials I
had collected, resolving to finish my labours in some obscure
nook in the northern highlands of Scotland.

We quitted London on the 27th of March, and remained
a few days at Windsor, rambling in its beautiful forest.
This was a new scene to us mountaineers ; the majestic
oaks, the quantity of game, and the herds of stately deer,
were all novelties to us.

From thence we proceeded to Oxford. As we entered
this city, our minds were rilled with the remembrance of
the events that had been transacted there more than a
century and a half before. It was here that Charles I. had
collected his forces. This city had remained faithful to

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 141

him, after the whole nation had forsaken his cause to join
the standard of parliament and liberty. The memory of
that unfortunate king, and his companions, the amiable
Falkland., the insolent Goring, his queen, and son, gave a
peculiar interest to every part of the city, which they might
be supposed to have inhabited. The spirit of elder days
found a dwelling here, and we delighted to trace its foot-
steps. If these feelings had not found an imaginary gra-
tification, the appearance of the city had yet in itself sufficient
beauty to obtain our admiration. The colleges are ancient
and picturesque ; the streets are almost magnificent ; and
the lovely Isis, which flows beside it through meadows of
exquisite verdure, is spread forth into a placid expanse of
waters, which reflects its majestic assemblage of towers, and
spires, and domes, embosomed among aged trees.

I enjoyed this scene; and yet my enjoyment was em-
bittered both by the memory of the past, and the anticipation
of the future. I was formed for peaceful happiness. During
my youthful days discontent never visited my mind ; and
if I was ever overcome by ennui, the sight of what is
beautiful in nature, or the study of what is excellent and
sublime in the productions of man, could always interest
my heart, and communicate elasticity to my spirits. But
I am a blasted tree ; the bolt has entered my soul ; and I
felt then that I should survive to exhibit, what I shall soon
cease to be — a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity,
pitiable to others, and intolerable to myself.

We passed a considerable period at Oxford, rambling
among its environs, and endeavouring to identify every spot
which might relate to the most animating epoch of English
history. Our little voyages of discovery were often pro-
longed by the successive objects that presented themselves.
We visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden, and the
field on which that patriot fell. For a moment my soul
was elevated from its debasing and miserable fears, to con-
template the divine ideas of liberty and self-sacrifice, of
which these sights were the monuments and the remem-
brancers. For an instant I dared to shake off my chains,
and look around me with a free and lofty spirit ; but the

142 FRANKENSTEIN ; OB,

iron had eaten into my flesh, and I sank again, trembling
and hopeless, into my miserable self.

We left Oxford with regret, and proceeded to Matlock,
•which was our next place of rest. The country in the
neighbourhood of this village resembled, to a greater degree,
the scenery of Switzerland ; but every thing is on a lower
scale, and the green hills want the crown of distant white
Alps, which always attendonthe piny mountains of my native
country. We visited the wondrous cave, and the little
cabinets of natural history, where the curiosities are disposed
in the same manner as in the collections at Servox and Cha-
mounix. The latter name made me tremble, when pro-
nounced by Henry ; and I hastened to quit Matlock, with
which that terrible scene was thus associated.

From Derby, still journeying northward, we passed two
months in Cumberland and Westmorland. I could now
almost fancy myself among the Swiss mountains. The
little patches of snow which yet lingered on the northern
sides of the mountains, the lakes, and the dashing of the
rocky streams, were all familiar and dear sights to me.
Here also we made some acquaintances, who almost con-
trived to cheat me into happiness. The delight of Clerval
was proportionably greater than mine; his mind expanded
in the company of men of talent, and he found in his own
nature greater capacities and resources than he could have
imagined himself to have possessed while he associated with
his inferiors. <c I could pass my life here," said he to me;
" and among these mountains I should scarcely regret
Switzerland and the Rhine."

But he found that a traveller's life is one that includes
much pain amidst its enjoyments. His feelings are for
ever on the stretch ; and when he begins to sink into repose,
he finds himself obliged to quit that on which he rests in
pleasure for something new, which again engages his at-
tention, and which also he forsakes for other novelties.

We had scarcely visited the various lakes of Cumberland
and Westmorland, and conceived an affection for some of
the inhabitants, when the period of our appointment with
our Scotch friend approached, and we left them to travel on.
For my own part I was not sorry. I had now neglected

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 143

my promise for some time, and I feared the effects of the
daemon's disappointment. He might remain in Switzerland,
and wreak his vengeance on my relatives. This idea pur-
sued me, and tormented me at every moment from which
I might otherwise have snatched repose and peace. I
waited for my letters with feverish impatience : if they were
delayed, I was miserable, and overcome by a thousand fears;
and when they arrived, and I saw the superscription of
Elizabeth or my father, I hardly dared to read and ascertain
my fate. Sometimes I thought that the fiend followed me,
and might expedite my remissness by murdering my com-
panion. When these thoughts possessed me, I would not
quit Henry for a moment, but followed him as his shadow,
to protect him from the fancied rage of his destroyer.
I felt as if I had committed some great crime, the con-
sciousness of which haunted me. I was guiltless, but I
had indeed drawn down a horrible curse upon my head, as
mortal as that of crime.

I visited Edinburgh with languid eyes and mind ; and
yet that city might have interested the most unfortunate
being. Clerval did not like it so well as Oxford : for the
antiquity of the latter city was more pleasing to him. But
the beauty and regularity of the new town of Edinburgh,
its romantic castle, and its environs, the most delightful in
the world, Arthur's Seat, St. Bernard's Well, and the Pent-
land Hills, compensated him for the change, and filled him
with cheerfulness and admiration. But I was impatient to
arrive at the termination of my journey.

We left Edinburgh in a week, passing through Coupar,
St. Andrew's, and along the banks of the Tay, to Perth,
where our friend expected us. But I was in no mood to
laugh and talk with strangers, or enter into their feelings or
plans with the good humour expected from a guest ; and
accordingly I told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of
Scotland alone. " Do you," said I, " enjoy yourself, and
let this be our rendezvous. I may be absent a month or
two ; but do not interfere with my motions, I entreat you :
leave me to peace and solitude for a short time ; and when
I return, I hope it will be with a lighter heart, more con-
genial to your own temper."

144 FRANKENSTEIN; on,

Henry wished to dissuade me ; but., seeing me bent on
this plan, ceased to remonstrate. He entreated me to write
often. " I had rather be with you/' he said, " in your
solitary rambles, than with these Scotch people, whom I do
not know : hasten then, my dear friend, to return, that I
may again feel myself somewhat at home, which I cannot
do in your absence."

Having parted from my friend, I determined to visit
some remote spot of Scotland, and finish my work in soli-
tude. I did not doubt but that the monster followed me,
and would discover himself to me when I should have
finished, that he might receive his companion.

With this resolution I traversed the northern highlands,
and fixed on one of the remotest of the Orkneys as the scene
of my labours. It was a place fitted for such a work, being
hardly more than a rock, whose high sides were continually
beaten upon by the waves. The soil was barren, scarcely
affording pasture for a few miserable cows, and oatmeal for
its inhabitants, which consisted of five persons, whose gaunt
and scraggy limbs gave tokens of their miserable fare.
Vegetables and bread, when they indulged in such luxuries,
and even fresh water, was to be procured from the main
land, which was about five miles distant.

On the whole island there were but three miserable huts,
and one of these was vacant when I arrived. This I hired.
It contained but two rooms, and these exhibited all the
squalidness of the most miserable penury. The thatch
had fallen in, the walls were unplastered, and the door was
off its hinges. I ordered it to be repaired, bought some
furniture, and took possession ; an incident which would,
doubtless, have occasioned some surprise, had not all the
senses of the cottagers been benumbed by want and squalid
poverty. As it was, I lived ungazed at and unmolested,
hardly thanked for the pittance of food and clothes which
I gave ; so much does suffering blunt even the coarsest
sensations of men.

In this retreat I devoted the morning to labour ; but in
the evening, when the weather permitted, I walked on the
stony beach of the sea, to listen to the waves as they roared
and dashed at my feet. It was a monotonous yet ever-

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 145

changing scene. I thought of Switzerland j it was far
different from this desolate and appalling landscape. Its
hills are covered with vines, and its cottages are scattered
thickly in the plains. Its fair lakes reflect a hlue and gentle
sky ; and., when troubled by the winds, their tumult is but
as the play of a lively infant, when compared to the roar-
ings of the giant ocean.

In this manner I distributed my occupations when I first
arrived ; but, as I proceeded in my labour, it became every
day more horrible and irksome to me. Sometimes I could
not prevail on myself to enter my laboratory for several
days ; and at other times I toiled day and night in order
to complete my work. It was, indeed, a filthy process in
which I was engaged. During my first experiment, a kind
of enthusiastic frenzy bad-blinded me to the horror of my
employment ; my mind was intently fixed on the consum-
mation of my labour, and my eyes were shut to the horror
of my proceedings. But now I went to it in cold blood,
and my heart often sickened at the work of my hands.

Thus situated, employed in the most detestable occupa-
tion, immersed in a solitude where nothing could for an
instant call my attention from the actual scene in which I
was engaged, my spirits became unequal ; I grew restless
and nervous. Every moment I feared to meet my per-
secutor. Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed on the ground,
fearing to raise them, lest they should encounter the object
which I so much dreaded to behold. I feared to wander
from the sight of my fellow-creatures, lest when alone he
should come to claim his companion.

In the mean time I worked on, and my labour was
already considerably advanced. I looked towards its com-
pletion with a tremulous and eager hope, which I dared not
trust myself to question, but which was intermixed with
obscure forebodings of evil, that made my heart sicken in my
bosom.

146 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

CHAPTER XX.

I SAT one evening in my laboratory ; the sun had set, and
the moon was just rising from the sea ; I had not sufficient
light for my employment, and I remained idle, in a pause
of consideration of whether I should leave my labour for
the night, or hasten its conclusion by an unremitting at-
tention to it. As I sat, a train of reflection occurred to
me, which led me to consider the effects of what I was now
doing. Three years before I was engaged in the same
manner, and had created a fiend whose unparalleled bar-
barity had desolated my heart, and filled it for ever with
the bitterest remorse. I was now about to form another
being, of whose dispositions I was alike ignorant ; she might
become ten thousand times more malignant than her mate,
and delight, for its own sake, in murder and wretchedness.
He had sworn to quit the neighbourhood of man, and hide
himself in deserts ; but she had not ; and she, who in all
probability was to become a thinking and reasoning animal,
might refuse to comply with a compact made before her
creation. They might even hate each other ; the creature
who already lived loathed his own deformity, and might
he not conceive a greater abhorrence for it when it came
before his eyes in the female form ? She also might turn
with disgust from him to the superior beauty of man ; she
might quit him, and he be again alone, exasperated by the
fresh provocation of being deserted by one of his own
species.

Even if they were to leave Europe, and inhabit the de-
serts of the new world, yet one of the first results of those
sympathies for which the daemon thirsted would be children,
and a race of devils would be propagated upon the earth,
•who might make the very existence of the species of man
a condition precarious and full of terror. Had I right, for
my own benefit, to inflict this curse upon everlasting ge-
nerations ? I had before been moved by the sophisms of
the being I had created ; I had been struck senseless by his

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 147

fiendish threats : but now, for the first time, the wickedness
of my promise burst upon me ; I shuddered to think that
future ages might curse me as their pest, whose selfishness
had not hesitated to buy its own peace at the price, per-
haps, of the existence of the whole human race.

I trembled, and my heart failed within me ; when, on
looking up, I saw, by the light of the moon, the daemon at
the casement. A ghastly grin wrinkled his lips as he gazed
on me, where I sat fulfilling the task which he had allotted
to me. Yes, he had followed me in my travels ; he had
loitered in forests, hid himself in caves, or taken refuge in
wide and desert heaths ; and he now came to mark my pro-
gress, and claim the fulfilment of my promise.

As I looked on him, his countenance expressed the ut-
most extent of malice and treachery. I thought with a
sensation of madness on my promise of creating another
like to him, and trembling with passion, tore to pieces the
thing on which I was engaged. The wretch saw me de-
stroy the creature on whose future existence he depended
for happiness, and, with a howl of devilish despair and re-
venge, withdrew.

I left the room, and, locking the door, made a solemn
vow in my own heart never to resume my labours ; and
then, with trembling steps, I sought my own apartment.
I was alone ; none were near me to dissipate the gloom,
and relieve me from the sickening oppression of the most
terrible reveries.

Several hours passed, and I remained near my window
gazing on the sea ; it was almost motionless, for the winds
were hushed, and all nature reposed under the eye of the
quiet moon. A few fishing vessels alone specked the water,
and now and then the gentle breeze wafted the sound of
voices, as the fishermen called to one another. I felt the
silence, although I was hardly conscious of its extreme
profundity, until my ear was suddenly arrested by the
paddling of oars near the shore, and a person landed close
to my house.

In a few minutes after, I heard the creaking of my door,
as if some one endeavoured to open it softly. I trembled
from head to foot; I felt a presentiment of who it was, and
L 2

148 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

wished to rouse one of the peasants who dwelt in a cottage
not far from mine ; but I was overcome hy the sensation
of helplessness, so often felt in frightful dreams, when you
in vain endeavour to fly from an impending danger, and
was rooted to the spot.

Presently I heard the sound of footsteps along the pas-
sage ; the door opened, and the wretch whom I dreaded
appeared. Shutting the door, he approached me, and said,
in a smothered voice —

" You have destroyed the work which you began ; what
is it that you intend ? Do you dare to break your promise ?
I have endured toil and misery : I left Switzerland with
you; I crept along the shores of the Rhine, among its wil-
low islands, and over the summits of its hills. I have dwelt
many months in the heaths of England, and among the
deserts of Scotland. I have endured incalculable fatigue,
and cold, and hunger ; do you dare destroy my hopes ?"

" Begone ! I do break my promise ; never will I create
another like yourself, equal in deformity and wickedness."

" Slave, I before reasoned with you, but you have proved
yourself unworthy of my condescension. Remember that I
have power ; you believe yourself miserable, but I can make
you so wretched that the light of day will be hateful to you,
You are my creator, but I am your master ; — obey ! "

" The hour of my irresolution is past, and the period
of your power is arrived. Your threats cannot move me
to do an act of wickedness ; but they confirm me in a de-
termination of not creating you a companion in vice. Shall
I, in cool blood, set loose upon the earth a daemon, whose
delight is in death and wretchedness ? Begone! I am firm,
and your words will only exasperate my rage."

The monster saw my determination in my face, and
gnashed his teeth in the impotence of anger. " Shall each
man," cried he, " find a wife for his bosom, and each beast
have his mate, and I be alone ? I had feelings of affection,
and they were requited by detestation and scorn. Man I
you may hate ; but beware ! your hours will pass in dread
and misery, and soon the bolt will fall which must ravish
from you your happiness for ever. Are you to be happy,
while I grovel in the intensity of my wretchedness ? You

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 149

can blast my other passions ; but revenge remains — re-
venge, henceforth dearer than light or food ! I may die ;
but first you, my tyrant and tormentor, shall curse the sun
that gazes on your misery. Beware ; for I am fearless,
and therefore powerful. I will watch with the wiliness of
a snake, that I may sting with its venom. Man, you shall
repent of the injuries you inflict."

" Devil, cease ; and do not poison the air with these
sounds of malice. I have declared my resolution to you,
and I am no coward to bend beneath words. Leave me ;
I am inexorable."

e( It is well. I go ; but remember, I shall be with you
on your wedding-night."

I started forward, and exclaimed, " Villain ! before you
sign my death-warrant, be sure that you are yourself safe."

I would have seized him ; but he eluded me, and
quitted the house with precipitation. In a few moments
I saw him in his boat, which shot across the waters with
an arrowy swiftness, and was soon lost amidst the waves.

All was again silent ; but his words rung in my ears. I
burned with rage to pursue the murderer of my peace, and
precipitate him into the ocean. I walked up and down my
room hastily and perturbed, while my imagination conjured
up a thousand images to torment and sting me. Why had
I not followed him, and closed with him in mortal strife ?
But I had suffered him to depart, and he had directed his
course towards the main land. I shuddered to think who
might be the next victim sacrificed to his insatiate revenge.
And then I thought again of his words — " I will be with
you on your wedding-night" That then was the period
fixed for the fulfilment of my destiny. In that hour I
should die, and at once satisfy and extinguish his malice.
The prospect did not move me to fear ; yet when I thought
of my beloved Elizabeth, — of her tears and endless sorrow,
when she should find her lover so barbarously snatched
from her, — tears, the first I had shed for many months,
streamed from my eyes, and I resolved not to fall before
my enemy without a bitter struggle.

» The night passed away, and the sun rose from the ocean ;
my feelings became calmer, if it may be called calmness.
I 3

1 50 FRANKENSTEIN ; OR,

when the violence of rage sinks into the depths of despair.
I left the house, the horrid scene of the last night's con-
tention_, and walked on the beach of the sea, which I almost
regarded as an insuperable barrier between me and my
fellow-creatures ; nay, a wish that such should prove the
fact stole across me. I desired that I might pass my life
on that barren rock, wearily, it is true, but uninterrupted
by any sudden shock of misery. If I returned, it was to
be sacrificed, or to see those whom I most loved die under
the grasp of a daemon whom I had myself created.

I walked about the isle like a restless spectre, separated
from all it loved, and miserable in the separation. When
it became noon, and the sun rose higher, I lay down on
the grass, and was overpowered by a deep sleep. I had
been awake the whole of the preceding night, my nerves
were agitated, and my eyes inflamed by watching and
misery. The sleep into which I now sunk refreshed me ;
and when I awoke, I again felt as if I belonged to a race
of human beings like myself, and I began to reflect upon
what had passed with greater composure ; yet still the words
of the fiend rung in my ears like a death-knell, they ap-
peared like a dream, yet distinct and oppressive as a reality.

The sun had far descended, and I still sat on the shore,
satisfying my appetite, which had become ravenous, with
an oaten cake, when I saw a fishing-boat land close to me,
and one of the men brought me a packet ; it contained let-
ters from Geneva, and one from Clerval, entreating me to
join him. He said that he was wearing away his time
fruitlessly where he was ; that letters from the friends
he had formed in London desired his return to complete
the negotiation they had entered into for his Indian enter-
prise. He could not any longer delay his departure ; but
as his journey to London might be followed, even sooner
than he now conjectured, by his longer voyage, he entreated
me to bestow as much of my society on him as I could
spare. He besought me, therefore, to leave my solitary
isle, and to meet him at Perth, that we might proceed
southwards together. This letter in a degree recalled me
to life, and I determined to quit my island at the expiration
of two days.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 151

Yet, before I departed, there was a task to perform, on
which I shuddered to reflect : I must pack up my chemical
instruments ; and for that purpose I must enter the room
which had been the scene of my odious work, and I must
handle those utensils, the sight of which was sickening to
me. The next morning, at daybreak, I summoned suf-
ficient courage, and unlocked the door of my laboratory.
The remains of the half-finished creature, whom I had
destroyed, lay scattered on the floor, and I almost felt as if
I had Mangled the living flesh of a human being. I paused
to collect myself, and then entered the chamber. With
trembling hand I conveyed the instruments out of the
room ; bit I reflected that I ought not to leave the relics
of my work to excite the horror and suspicion of the pea-
sants ; and I accordingly put them into a basket, with a
great qiantity of stones, and, laying them up, determined
to throw them into the sea that vary night ; and in the
mean tine I sat upon the beach, employed in cleaning and
arranging my chemical apparatus.

Notling could be more complete than the alteration that
had talen place in my feelings since the night of the ap-
pearance of the daemon. I had before regarded my promise
with a gloomy despair, as a thing that, with whatever con-
sequents, must be fulfilled ; but I now felt as if a film
had beei taken from before my eyes, and that I, for the
first tim<, saw clearly. The idea of renewing my labours
did not br one instant occur to me ; the threat I had heard
weighed Dn my thoughts, but I did not reflect that a vo-
luntary jet of mine could avert it. I had resolved in my
own mird, that to create another like the fiend I had first
made wmld be an act of the basest and most atrocious
selfishness ; and I banished from my mind every thought
tha* could lead to a different conclusion.

3etween two and three in the morning the moon rose ;
ani I then, putting my basket aboard a little skiff, sailed
ou about four miles from the shore. The scene was per-
fecly solitary : a few boats were returning towards land,
bu I sailed away from them. J felt as if I was about the
conmission of a dreadful crime, and avoided with shud-
deing anxiety any encounter with my fellow-creatures. At
L 4

1 52 FRANKENSTEIN j OB,

one time the moon, which had before been clear, was sud-
denly overspread by a thick cloud, and I took advantage
of the moment of darkness, and cast my basket into the
sea : I listened to the gurgling sound as it sunk, and then
sailed away from the spot. The sky became clouded ; but
the air was pure, although chilled by the north-east breeze
that was then rising. But it refreshed me, and filled me
with such agreeable sensations, that I resolved to prolong
my stay on the water j and, fixing the rudder in a direct
position, stretched myself at the bottom of the boat. Cloud;
hid the moon, every thing was obscure, and I heard only
the sound of the boat, as its keel cut through the waves;
the murmur lulled me, and in a short time I slept soundly.
I do not know how long I remained in this situation,
but when I awoke I found that the sun had already mounted
considerably. The wind wras high, and the wa\es con-
tinually threatened the safety of my little skiff. I found
that the wind was north-east, and must have drivm me far
from the coast from which I had embarked. I endeavoured
to change my course, but quickly found that, if 1 again
made the attempt, the boat would be instantly filkl with
water. Thus situated, my only resource was to drivj before
the wind. I confess that I felt a few sensations o: terror.
I had no compass with me, and was so slenderly acquainted
with the geography of this part of the world, that the sun
was of little benefit to me. I might be driven into the
wide Atlantic, and feel all the tortures of starvation, or be
swallowed up in the immeasurable waters that roired and
buffeted around me. I had already been out mary hours,
and felt the torment of a burning thirst, a preluce to my
other sufferings. I looked on the heavens, which were
covered by clouds that flew before the wind, omy to be
replaced by others : I looked upon the sea, it was to be my
grave. " Fiend," I exclaimed, " your task is already id-
filled ! " I thought of Elizabeth, of my father, and of CLr-
val ; all left behind, on whom the monster might satify
his sanguinary and merciless passions. This idea plunged
me into a reverie, so despairing and frightful, that e^n
now, when the scene is on the point of closing before a<
for ever, I shudder to reflect on it.

THE MODERN PR031ETHEUS.

153

Some hours passed thus ; but by degrees,, as the sun
declined towards the horizon, the wind died away into a
gentle breeze, and the sea became free from breakers. But
these gave place to a heavy swell : I felt sick, and hardly
able to hold the rudder, when suddenly I saw a line of high
land towards the south.

Almost spent, as I was, by fatigue, and the dreadful
suspense I endured for several hours, this sudden certainty
of life rushed like a flood of warm joy to my heart, and
tears gushed from my eyes.

How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that
clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery ! I
constructed another sail with a part of my dress, and eagerly
steered my course towards the land. It had a wild and
rocky appearance ; but, as I approached nearer, I easily
perceived the traces of cultivation. I saw vessels near the
shore, and found myself suddenly transported back to the
neighbourhood of civilised man. I carefully traced the
windings of the land, and hailed a steeple which I at length
saw issuing from behind a small promontory. As I was in
a state of extreme debility, I resolved to sail directly towards
the town, as a place where I could most easily procure
nourishment. Fortunately I had money with me. As I
turned the promontory, I perceived a small neat town and
a good harbour, which I entered, my heart bounding with
joy at my unexpected escape.

As I was occupied in fixing the boat and arranging the
sails, several people crowded towards the spot. They seemed
much surprised at my appearance ; but, instead of offering
me any assistance, whispered together with gestures that
at any other time might have produced in me a slight
sensation of alarm. As it was, I merely remarked that
they spohe English ; and I therefore addressed them in that
language : " My good friends," said I, " will you be so
kind as to tell me the name of this town, and inform me
where I am ? "

" You will know that soon enough," replied a man with
with a hoarse voice. " May be you are come to a place that
will not prove much to your taste ; but you will not be
consulted as to your quarters, I promise you."

154 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

I was exceedingly surprised on receiving so rude an
answer from a stranger ; and I was also disconcerted on
perceiving the frowning and angry countenances of his
companions. " Why do you answer me so roughly ? " I
replied ; " surely it is not the custom of Englishmen to
receive strangers so inhospitably."

" I do not know/' said the man, " what the'custom of
the English may be ; but is the custom of the Irish to hate
villains."

While this strange dialogue continued, I perceived the
crowd rapidly increase. Their faces expressed a mixture
of curiosity and anger, which annoyed, and in some degree
alarmed me. I enquired the way to the inn ; but no one
replied. I then moved forward, and a murmuring sound
arose from the crowd as they followed and surrounded me;
when an ill-looking man approaching, tapped me on the
shoulder, and said, " Come, Sir, you must follow me to
Mr. Kirwin's, to give an account of yourself."

" Who is Mr. Kirwin ? Why am I to give an account
of myself ? Is not this a free country ? "

" Ay, sir, free enough for honest folks. Mr. Kirwin is
a magistrate ; and you are to give an account of the death
of a gentleman who was found murdered here last night."

This answer startled me; but I presently recovered
myself. I was innocent ; that could easily be proved :
accordingly I followed my conductor in silence, and was
led to one of the best houses in the town. I was ready to
sink from fatigue and hunger ; but, being surrounded by a
crowd, I thought it politic to rouse all my strength, that
no physical debility might be construed into apprehension
or conscious guilt. Little did I then expect the calamity
that was in a few moments to overwhelm me, and extin-
guish in horror and despair all fear of ignominy or death.

I must pause here ; for it requires all my fortitude to
recall the memory of the frightful events which I am about
to relate, in proper detail, to my recollection.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 155

CHAPTER XXI.

I WAS soon introduced into the presence of the magistrate,
an old benevolent man,, with calm and mild manners. He
looked upon me, however, with some degree of severity :
and then, turning towards my conductors, he asked who
appeared as witnesses on this occasion.

About half a dozen men came forward ; and, one being
selected by the magistrate, he deposed, that he had been
out fishing the night before with his son and brother-in-
law, Daniel Nugent, when, about ten o'clock, they observed
a strong northerly blast rising, and they accordingly put
in for port. It was a very dark night, as the moon had
not yet risen ; they did not land at the harbour, but, as
they had been accustomed, at a creek about two miles below.
He walked on first, carrying a part of the fishing tackle,
and his companions foUowed him at some distance. As
he was proceeding along the sands, he struck his foot
against something, and fell at his length on the ground.
His companions came up to assist him ; and, by the light
of their lantern, they found that he had fallen on the body
of a man, who was to all appearance dead. Their first
supposition was, that it was the corpse of some person who
had been drowned, and was thrown on shore by the waves ;
but, on examination, they found that the clothes were not
wet, and even that the body was not then cold. They
instantly carried it to the cottage of an old woman near the
spot, and endeavoured, but in vain, to restore it to life.
It appeared to be a handsome young man, about five and
twenty years of age. He had apparently been strangled ;
for there was no sign of any violence, except the black
mark of fingers on his neck.

The first part of this deposition did not in the least
interest me ; but when the mark of the fingers was men-
tioned, I remembered the murder of my brother, and felt
myself extremely agitated ; my limbs trembled, and a mist
came over my eyes, which obliged me to lean on a chair

156 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

for support. The magistrate observed me with a keen
eye, and of course drew an unfavourable augury from my
manner.

The son confirmed his father's account : but when Daniel
Nugent was called, he swore positively that, just before the
fall of his companion, he saw a boat, with a single man in
it, at a short distance from the shore; and, as far as he
could judge by the light of a few stars, it was the same boat
in which I had just landed.

A woman deposed, that she lived near the beach, and
was standing at the door of her cottage, waiting for the re-
turn of the fishermen, about an hour before she heard of
the discovery of the body, when she saw a boat, with only
one man in it, push off from that part of the shore where
the corpse was afterwards found.

Another woman confirmed the account of the fishermen
having brought the body into her house ; it was not cold.
They put it into a bed, and rubbed it ; and Daniel went to
the town for an apothecary, but life was quite gone.

Several other men were examined concerning my land-
ing; and they agreed, that, with the strong north wind
that had arisen during the night, it was very probable that
I had beaten about for many hours, and had been obliged
to return nearly to the same spot from which I had de-
parted. Besides, they observed that it appeared that I had
brought the body from another place, and it was likely,
that as I did not appear to know the shore, I might
have put into the harbour ignorant of the distance of the
town of * * * from the place where I had deposited
the corpse.

Mr. Kirwin, on hearing this evidence, desired that I should
be taken into the room where the body lay for interment,
that it might be observed what effect the sight of it would
produce upon me. This idea was probably suggested by
the extreme agitation I had exhibited when the mode of
the murder had been described. I was accordingly con-
ducted, by the magistrate and several other persons, to the
inn. I could not help being struck by the strange coinci-
dences that had taken place during this eventful night ; but,
knowing that I had been conversing with several persons in

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 157

the island I had inhabited about the time that the body had
been found, I was perfectly tranquil as to the consequences
of the affair.

I entered the room where the corpse lay, and was led up
to the coffin. How can I describe my sensations on be-
holding it? I feel yet parched with horror, nor can I
reflect on that terrible moment without shuddering and
agony. The examination, the presence of the magistrate
and witnesses, passed like a dream from my memory, when
I saw the lifeless form of Henry Clerval stretched before
me. I gasped for breath; and, throwing myself on the
body, I exclaimed, " Have my murderous machinations de-
prived you also, my dearest Henry, of life ? Two I have
already destroyed ; other victims await their destiny : but
you, Clerval, my friend, my benefactor "

The human frame could no longer support the agonies
that I endured, and I was carried out of the room in strong
convulsions.

A fever succeeded to this. I lay for two months on the
point of death : my ravings, as I afterwards heard, were
frightful ; I called myself the murderer of William, of
Justine, and of Clerval. Sometimes I entreated my at-
tendants to assist me in the destruction of the fiend by
whom I was tormented ; and at others, I felt the fingers of
the monster already grasping my neck, and screamed aloud
with agony and terror. Fortunately, as I spoke my native
language, Mr. Kirwin alone understood me ; but my ges-
tures and bitter cries were sufficient to affright the other
witnesses.

Why did I not die? More miserable than man ever
was before, why did I not sink into forgetfulness and rest?
Death snatches away many blooming children, the only
hopes of their doating parents : how many brides and
youthful lovers have been one day in the bloom of health
and hope, and the next a prey for worms and the decay
of the tomb ! Of what materials was I made, that I could
thus resist so many shocks, which, like the turning of the
wheel, continually renewed the torture ?

But I was doomed to live ; and, in two months, found
myself as awaking from a dream, in a prison, stretched

158 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

on a wretched bed, surrounded by gaolers, turnkeys, bolts,
and all the miserable apparatus of a dungeon. It was
morning, I remember, when I thus awoke to understand-
ing : I had forgotten the particulars of what had happened,
and only felt as if some great misfortune had suddenly
overwhelmed me ; but when I looked around, and saw the
barred windows, and the squalidness of the room in which
I was, all flashed across my memory, and I groaned bit-
terly.

This sound disturbed an old woman who was sleeping in
a chair beside me. She was a hired nurse, the wife of one
of the turnkeys, and her countenance expressed all those
bad qualities which often characterise that class. The lines
of her face were hard and rude, like that of persons accus-
tomed to see without sympathising in sights of misery.
Her tone expressed her entire indifference ; she addressed
me in English, and the voice struck me as one that I had
heard during my sufferings : —

" Are you better now, sir ? " said she.

I replied in the same language, with a feeble voice, f( I
believe I am ; but if it be all true, if indeed I did not
dream, I am sorry that I am still alive to feel this misery
and horror."

' ' For that matter," replied the old woman, f ' if you
mean about the gentleman you murdered, I believe that it
were better for you if you were dead, for I fancy it will go
hard with you ! However, that's none of my business; I am
sent to nurse you, and get you well ; I do my duty with
a safe conscience ; it were well if every body did the
same."

I turned with loathing from the woman who could utter
so unfeeling a speech to a person just saved, on the very
edge of death ; but I felt languid, and unable to reflect on
all that had passed. The whole series of my life appeared
to me as a dream ; I sometimes doubted if indeed it were
all true, for it never presented itself to my mind with the
force of reality.

As the images that floated before me became more dis-
tinct, I grew feverish ; a darkness pressed around me : no
one was near me who soothed me with the gentle voice of

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 159

love ; no dear hand supported me. The physician came
and prescribed medicines, and the old woman prepared
them for me ; but utter carelessness was visible in the first,
and the expression of brutality was strongly marked in the
visage of the second. Who could be interested in the
fate of a murderer, but the hangman who would gain his
fee?

These were my first reflections ; but I soon learned that
Mr. Kirwin had shown me extreme kindness. He had
caused the best room in the prison to be prepared for me
(wretched indeed was the best) ; and it was he who had
provided a physician and a nurse. It is true, he seldom
came to see me ; for, although he ardently desired to relieve
the sufferings of every human creature, he did not wish to
be present at the agonies and miserable ravings of a mur-
derer. He came, therefore, sometimes, to see that I was
not neglected ; but his visits were short, and with long
intervals.

One day, while I was gradually recovering, I was seated
in a chair, my eyes half open, and my cheeks livid like
those in death. I was overcome by gloom and misery, and
often reflected I had better seek death than desire to remain
in a world which to me was replete with wretchedness. At
one time I considered whether I should not declare myself
guilty, and suffer the penalty of the law, less innocent than
poor Justine had been. Such were my thoughts, when the
door of my apartment was opened, and Mr. Kirwin entered.
His countenance expressed sympathy and compassion ; he
drew a chair close to mine, and addressed me in French —
" I fear that this place is very shocking to you ; can I
do any thing to make you more comfortable ? "

" I thank you ; but all that you mention is nothing to
me : on the whole earth there is no comfort which I am
capable of receiving."

" I know that the sympathy of a stranger can be but of
little relief to one borne down as you are by so strange a
misfortune. But you will, I hope, soon quit this melan-
choly abode ; for, doubtless, evidence can easily be brought
to free you from the criminal charge."

" That is my least concern : I am, by a course of strange

]60

FRANKENSTEIN;

events, become the most miserable of mortals. Persecuted
and tortured as I am and have been, can death be any evil
to me ? "

" Nothing indeed could be more unfortunate and ago-
nising than the strange chances that have lately occurred.
You were thrown, by some surprising accident, on this
shore., renowned for its hospitality ; seized immediately,
and charged with murder. The first sight that was pre-
sented to your eyes was the body of your friend, murdered
in so unaccountable a manner, and placed, as it were, by some
fiend across your path."

As Mr. Kirwin said this, notwithstanding the agitation
I endured on this retrospect of my sufferings, I also felt
considerable surprise at the knowledge he seemed to possess
concerning me. I suppose some astonishment was exhi-
bited in my countenance j for Mr. Kirwin hastened to
say —

ff Immediately upon your being taken ill, all the papers
that were on your person were brought me, and I examined
them that I might discover some trace by which I could
send to your relations an account of your misfortune and
illness. I found several letters, and, among others, one
which I discovered from its commencement to be from your
father. I instantly wrote to Geneva : nearly two months
have elapsed since the departure of my letter. — But you are
ill ; even now you tremble : you are unfit for agitation of
any kind."

ff This suspense is a thousand times worse than the
most horrible event : tell me what new scene of death has
been acted, and whose murder I am now to lament?"

e( Your family is perfectly well," said Mr. Kirwin, with
gentleness ; " and some one, a friend, is come to visit
you."

I know not by what chain of thought, the idea presented
itself, but it instantly darted into my mind that the mur-
derer had come to mock at my misery, and taunt me with
the death of Clerval, as a new incitement for me to comply
with his hellish desires. I put my hand before my eyes,
and cried out in agony —

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. l6'l

" Oh ! take him away ! I cannot see him ; for God's sake,
do not let him enter ! "

Mr. Kirwin regarded me with a troubled countenance.
He could not help regarding my exclamation as a presump-
tion of my guilt, and said, in rather a severe tone —

" I should have thought, young man, that the presence
of your father would have been welcome, instead of inspir-
ing such violent repugnance."

" My father ! " cried I, while every feature and every
muscle was relaxed from anguish to pleasure : ' ' is my
father indeed come ? How kind, how very kind ! But
where is he, why does he not hasten to me ? "

My change of manner surprised and pleased the magis-
trate ; perhaps he thought that my former exclamation was
a momentary return of delirium, and now he instantly
resumed his former benevolence. He rose, and quitted the
room with my nurse, and in a moment my father en-
tered it.

Nothing, at this moment, could have given me greater
pleasure than the arrival of my father. I stretched out my
hand to him, and cried —

" Are you then safe — and Elizabeth — and Ernest ? "

My father calmed me with assurances of their welfare, and
endeavoured, by dwelling on these subjects so interesting to
my heart, to raise my desponding spirits ; but he soon felt
that a prison cannot be the abode of cheerfulness. " What
a place is this that you inhabit, my son !" said he, looking
mournfully at the barred windows, and wretched appearance
of the room. " You travelled to seek happiness, but a
fatality seems to pursue you. And poor Clerval — "

The name of my unfortunate and murdered friend was
an agitation too great to be endured in my weak state ; I
shed tears.

ft Alas ! yes, my father/' replied I ; " some destiny of
the most horrible kind hangs over me, and I must live to
fulfil it, or surely I should have died on the coffin of
Henry."

We were not allowed to converse for any length of time,
for the precarious state of my health rendered every pre-

M

162 FRANKENSTEIN; OB,

caution necessary that could ensure tranquillity. Mr. Kir-
win came in, and insisted that my strength should not be
exhausted by too much exertion. But the appearance of
my father was to me like that of my good angel, and I gra-
dually recovered my health.

As my sickness quitted me, I was absorbed by a gloomy
and black melancholy, that nothing could dissipate. The
image of Clerval was for ever before me, ghastly and mur-
dered. More than once the agitation into which these re-
flections threw me made my friends dread a dangerous
relapse. Alas ! why did they preserve so miserable and
detested a life ? It was surely that I might fulfil my des-
tiny, which is now drawing to a close. Soon, oh ! very
soon, will death extinguish these throbbings, and relieve
me from the mighty weight of anguish that bears me to
the dust ; and, in executing the award of justice, I shall
also sink to rest. Then the appearance of death was dis-
tant, although the wish was ever present to my thoughts ;
and I often sat for hours motionless and speechless, wishing
for some mighty revolution that might bury me and my
destroyer in its ruins.

The season of the assizes approached. I had already
been three months in prison ; and although I was still weak,
and in continual danger of a relapse, I was obliged to travel
nearly a hundred miles to the county-town, where the court
was held. Mr. Kirwin charged himself with every care of
collecting witnesses, and arranging my defence. I was
spared the disgrace of appearing publicly as a criminal, as
the case was not brought before the court that decides on
life and death. The grand jury rejected the bill, on its
being proved that I was on the Orkney Islands at the hour
the body of my friend was found; and a fortnight after my
removal I was liberated from prison.

My father was enraptured on finding me freed from the
vexations of a criminal charge, that I was again allowed to
breathe the fresh atmosphere, and permitted to return to my
native country. I did not participate in these feelings ; for
to me the walls of a dungeon or a palace were alike hateful.
The cup of life was poisoned for ever ; and although the sun
shone upon me, as upon the happy and gay of heart, I saw

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. l63

around me nothing but a dense and frightful darkness,, pe-
netrated by no light but the glimmer of two eyes that glared
upon me. Sometimes they were the expressive eyes of
Henry, languishing in death, the dark orbs nearly covered
by the lids, and the long black lashes that fringed them ;
sometimes it was the watery, clouded eyes of the monster,
as I first saw them in my chamber at Ingolstadt.

My father tried to awaken in me the feelings of affection.
He talked of Geneva, which I should soon visit — of Eli-
zabeth and Ernest; but these words only drew deep groans
from me. Sometimes, indeed, I felt a wish for happiness ;
and thought, with melancholy delight, of my beloved
cousin; or longed, with a devouring maladie du pays,
to see once more the blue lake and rapid Rhone, that had
been so dear to me in early childhood: but my general
state of feeling was a torpor, in which a prison was as
welcome a residence as the divinest scene in nature ; and
these fits were seldom interrupted but by paroxysms of
anguish and despair. At these moments I often endea-
voured to put an end to the existence I loathed ; and it
required unceasing attendance and vigilance to restrain me
from committing some dreadful act of violence.

Yet one duty remained to me, the recollection of which
finally triumphed over my selfish despair. It was ne-
cessary that I should return without delay to Geneva, there
to watch over the lives of those I so fondly loved ; and to
lie in wait for the murderer, that if any chance led me to
the place of his concealment, or if he dared again to blast me
by his presence, I might, with unfailing aim, put an end to
the existence of the monstrous Image which I had endued
with the mockery of a soul still more monstrous. My
father still desired to delay our departure, fearful that I
could not sustain the fatigues of a journey : for I was a
shattered wreck, — the shadow of a human being. My
strength was gone. I was a mere skeleton ; and fever night
and day preyed upon my wasted frame.

Still, as 1 urged our leaving Ireland with such inquietude

and impatience, my father thought it best to yield. We

took our passage on board a vessel bound for Havre-de-

Grace, and sailed with a fair wind from the Irish shores.

M 2

16*4 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

It was midnight. I lay on the deck,, looking at the stars,
and listening to the dashing of the waves. I hailed the
darkness that shut Ireland from my sight ; and my pulse
beat with a feverish joy when I reflected that I should
soon see Geneva. The past appeared to me in the light of
a frightful dream ; yet the vessel in which I was, the wind
that blew me from the detested shore of Ireland, and the
sea which surrounded me, told me too forcibly that I was
deceived by no vision, and that Clerval, my friend and
dearest companion, had fallen a victim to me and the
monster of my creation. I repassed, in my memory, my
whole life ; my quiet happiness while residing with my
family in Geneva, the death of my mother, and my depar-
ture for Ingolstadt. I remembered, shuddering, the mad
enthusiasm that hurried me on to the creation of my hideous
enemy, and I called to mind the night in which he first
lived. I was unable to pursue the train of thought ; a
thousand feelings pressed upon me, and I wept bitterly.

Ever since my recovery from the fever, I had been in
the custom of taking every night a small quantity of lauda-
num ; for it was by means of this drug only that I was
enabled to gain the rest necessary for the preservation of
life. Oppressed by the recollection of my various misfor-
tunes, I now swallowed double my usual quantity, and soon
slept profoundly. But sleep did not afford me respite from
thought and misery ; my dreams presented a thousand
objects that scared me. Towards morning I was possessed
by a kind of night-mare ; I felt the fiend's grasp in my
neck, and could not free myself from it j groans and cries
rung in my ears. My father, who was watching over
me, perceiving my restlessness, awoke me ; the dashing
waves were around : the cloudy sky above ; the fiend was
not here : a sense of security, a feeling that a truce was
established between the present hour and the irresistible,
disastrous future, imparted' to me a kind of calm forgetful-
ness, of which the human mind is by its structure peculiarly
susceptible.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. l65

CHAPTER XXII.

THE voyage came to an end. We landed, and proceeded to
Paris. I soon found that I had overtaxed my strength, and
that I must repose before I could continue my journey.
My father's care and attentions were indefatigable ; but he
did not know the origin of my sufferings, and sought erro-
neous methods to remedy the incurable ill. He wished me
to seek amusement in society. I abhorred the face of man.
Oh, not abhorred ! they were my brethren, my fellow beings,
and I felt attracted even to the most repulsive among them,
as to creatures of an angelic nature and celestial mechanism.
But I felt that I had no right to share their intercourse. I
had unchained an enemy among them, whose joy it was to
shed their blood, and to revel in their groans. How they
would, each and ail, abhor me, and hunt me from the world,
did they know my unhallowed acts, and the crimes which
had their source in me !

My father yielded at length to my desire to avoid society,
and strove by various arguments to banish my despair.
Sometimes he thought that I felt deeply the degradation of
being obliged to answer a charge of murder, and he endea-
voured to prove to me the futility of pride.

ff Alas ! my father," said I, " how little do you know
me. Human beings, their feelings and passions, would
indeed be degraded if such a wretch as I felt pride. Jus-
tine, poor unhappy Justine, was as innocent as I, and she
suffered the same charge ; she died for it ; and I am the
cause of this — I murdered her. William, Justine, and
Henry — they all died by my hands."

My father had often, during my imprisonment, heard me
make the same assertion ; when I thus accused myself, he
sometimes seemed to desire an explanation, and at others he
appeared to consider it as the offspring of delirium, and
that, during my illness, some idea of this kind had pre-
sented itself to my imagination, the remembrance of which
I preserved in my convalescence. I avoided explanation,
M 3

166 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

and maintained a continual silence concerning the wretch I
had created. I had a persuasion that I should be supposed
mad ; and this in itself would for ever have chained my
tongue. But,, besides,, I could not bring myself to disclose a
secret which would fill my hearer with consternation, and
make fear and unnatural horror the inmates of his breast.
I checked, therefore, my impatient thirst for sympathy, and
was silent when I would have given the world to have con-
fided the fatal secret. Yet still words like those I have
recorded, would burst uncontrollably from me. I could
offer no explanation of them ; but their truth in part re-
lieved the burden of my mysterious woe.

Upon this occasion my father said, with an expression of
unbounded wonder, " My dearest Victor, what infatu-
ation is this ? My dear son, I entreat you never to make
such an assertion again."

" I am not mad," I cried energetically ; " the sun and
the heavens, who have viewed my operations, can bear wit-
ness of my truth. I am the assassin of those most innocent
victims ; they died by my machinations. A thousand times
would I have shed my own blood, drop by drop, to have
saved their lives ; but I could not, my father, indeed I
could not sacrifice the whole human race."

The conclusion of this speech convinced my father that
my ideas were deranged, and he instantly changed the
subject of our conversation, and endeavoured to alter the
course of my thoughts. He wished as much as possible to
obliterate the memory of the scenes that had taken place in
Ireland, and never alluded to them, or suffered me to speak
of my misfortunes.

As time passed away I became more calm : misery had
her dwelling in my heart, but I no longer talked in the
same incoherent manner of my own crimes ; sufficient for
me was the consciousness of them. By the utmost self-
violence, I curbed the imperious voice of wretchedness,
which sometimes desired to declare itself to the whole world;
and my manners were calmer and more composed than they
had ever been since my journey to the sea of ice.

A few days before we left Paris on our way to Switzer-
land, I received the following letter from Elizabeth : —

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 167

(C My dear Friend,

<f It gave me the greatest pleasure to receive a letter
from my uncle dated at Paris; you are no longer at a
formidable distance, and I may hope to see you in less than
a fortnight. My poor cousin,, how much you must have
suffered ! I expect to see you looking even more ill than
when you quitted Geneva. This winter has been passed
most miserably, tortured as I have been by anxious sus-
pense ; yet I hope to see peace in your countenance, and
to find that your heart is not totally void of comfort and
tranquillity.

" Yet I fear that the same feelings now exist that made
you so miserable a year ago, even perhaps augmented by
time. I would not disturb you at this period, when so
many misfortunes weigh upon you; but a conversation that
I had with my uncle previous to his departure renders
some explanation necessary before we meet.

" Explanation ! you may possibly say ; what can Eliza-
beth have to explain ? If you really say this, my questions
are answered, and all my doubts satisfied. But you are
distant from me, and it is possible that you may dread, and
yet be pleased with this explanation ; and, in a probability
of this being the case, I dare not any longer postpone writ-
ing what, during your absence, I have often wished to ex-
press to you, but have never had the courage to begin.

" You well know, Victor, that our union had been the
favourite plan of your parents ever since our infancy. We
were told this when young, and taught to look forward to
it as an event that would certainly take place. We were
affectionate playfellows during childhood, and, I believe,
dear and valued friends to one another as we grew older.
But as brother and sister often entertain a lively affection
towards each other, without desiring a more intimate union,
may not such also be our case ? Tell me, dearest Victor.
Answer me, I conjure you, by our mutual happiness, with
simple truth — Do you not love another ?

f{ You have travelled ; you have spent several years of
your life at Ingolstadt ; and I confess to you, my friend,
that when I saw you last autumn so unhappy, flying to
M 4

168 FRANKENSTEIN; OB,

solitude,, from the society of every creature, I could not
help supposing that you might regret our connection, and
believe yourself hound in honour to fulfil the wishes of
you parents, although they opposed themselves to your
inclinations. But this is false reasoning. I confess to you,
my friend, that I love you, and that in my airy dreams of
futurity you have been my constant friend and companion.
But it is your happiness I desire as well as my own, when
I declare to you, that our marriage would render me eternally
miserable, unless it were the dictate of your own free choice.
Even now I weep to think, that, borne down as you are by
the cruellest misfortunes, you may stifle, by the word honour,
all hope of that love and happiness which would alone re-
store you to yourself. I, who have so disinterested an affec-
tion for you, may increase your miseries tenfold, by being an
obstacle to your wishes. Ah ! Victor, be assured that your
cousin and playmate has too sincere a love for you not to
be made miserable by this supposition. Be happy, my
friend ; and if you obey me in this one request, remain
satisfied that nothing on earth will have the power to inter-
rupt my tranquillity.

" Do not let this letter disturb you ; do not answer to-
morrow, or the next day, or even until you come, if it
will give you pain. My uncle will send me news of your
health ; and if I see but one smile on your lips when we
meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I
shall need no other happiness.

" ELIZABETH LAVENZA.

" Geneva, May 18th, 17 — ."

This letter revived in my memory what I had before for-
gotten, the threat of the fiend — " I will be with you on your
wedding night!" Such was my sentence, and on that night
would the daemon employ every art to destroy me, and tear
me from the glimpse of happiness which promised partly to
console my sufferings. On that night he had determined to
consummate his crimes by my death. Well, be it so; a
deadly struggle would then assuredly take place, in which if
he were victorious I should be at peace, and his power over
me be at an end. If he were vanquished, I should be a
free man. Alas ! what freedom ? such as the peasant enjoys

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 169

t

when his family have been massacred before his eyes, his
cottage burnt, his lands laid waste, and he is turned adrift,
homeless, penniless, and alone, but free. Such would be
my liberty, except that in my Elizabeth I possessed a
treasure ; alas ! balanced by those horrors of remorse and
guilt, which would pursue me until death.

Sweet and beloved Elizabeth ! I read and re-read her
letter, and some softened feelings stole into my heart, and
dared to whisper paradisiacal dreams of love and joy ; but
the apple was already eaten, and the angel's arm bared to
drive me from all hope. Yet I would die to make her
happy. If the monster executed his threat, death was in-
evitable ; yet, again, I considered whether my marriage
would hasten my fate. My destruction might indeed arrive
a few months sooner ; but if my torturer should suspect
that I postponed it, influenced by his menaces, he would
surely find other, and perhaps more dreadful means of
revenge. He had vowed to be with me on my wedding-night,
yet he did not consider that threat as binding him to peace
in the mean time ; for, as if to show me that he was not yet
satiated with blood, he had murdered Clerval immediately
after the enunciation of his threats. I resolved, therefore, that
if my immediate union with my cousin would conduce either
to hers or my father's happiness, my adversary's designs
against my life should not retard it a single hour.

In this state of mind I wrote to Elizabeth. My letter
was calm and affectionate. " I fear, my beloved girl," I
said, " little happiness remains for us on earth ; yet all that
I may one day enjoy is centred in you. Chase away your
idle fears ; to you alone do I consecrate my life, and my
endeavours for contentment. I have one secret, Elizabeth,
a dreadful one ; when revealed to you, it will chill your
frame with horror, and then, far from being surprised at my
misery, you will only wonder that I survive what I have
endured. I will confide this tale of misery and terror to
you the day after our marriage shall take place ; for, my
sweet cousin, there must be perfect confidence between us.
But until then, 1 conjure you, do not mention or allude to
it. This I most earnestly entreat, and I know you will
comply."

170 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

In about a week after the arrival of Elizabeth's letter, we
returned to Geneva. The sweet girl welcomed me with
warm affection ; yet tears were in her eyes, as she beheld
my emaciated frame and feverish cheeks. I saw a change
in her also. She was thinner, and had lost much of that
heavenly vivacity that had before charmed me; but her
gentleness, and soft looks of compassion, made her a more fit
companion for one blasted and miserable as I was.

The tranquillity which I now enjoyed did not endure.
Memory brought madness with it ; and when I thought of
what had passed, a real insanity possessed me ; sometimes
I was furious, and burnt with rage ; sometimes low and
despondent. I neither spoke, nor looked at any one, but
sat motionless, bewildered by the multitude of miseries that
overcame me.

Elizabeth alone had the power to draw me from these
fits ; her gentle voice would soothe me when transported by
passion, and inspire me with human feelings when sunk in
torpor. She wept with me, and for me. When reason
returned, she would remonstrate, and endeavour to inspire
me with resignation. Ah ! it is well for the unfortunate to
be resigned, but for the guilty there is no peace. The
agonies of remorse poison the luxury there is otherwise
sometimes found in indulging the excess of grief.

Soon after my arrival, my father spoke of my immediate
marriage with Elizabeth. I remained silent.

(C Have you, then, some other attachment?"

" None on earth. I love Elizabeth, and look forward to
our union with delight. Let the day therefore be fixed ;
and on it 1 will consecrate myself, in life or death, to the
happiness of my cousin."

<f My dear Victor, do not speak thus. Heavy misfortunes
have befallen us ; but let us only cling closer to what re-
mains, and transfer our love for those whom we have lost, to
those who yet live. Our circle will be small, but bound
close by the ties of affection and mutual misfortune. And
when time shall have softened your despair, new and dear
objects of care will be born to replace those of whom we
have been so cruelly deprived."

Such were the lessons of my father. But to me the

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 1?1

remembrance of the threat returned : nor can you wonder,
that, omnipotent as the fiend had yet been in his deeds of
blood, I should almost regard him as invincible ; and that
when he had pronounced the words, " I shall be with you
on your wedding-night," I should regard the threatened
fate as unavoidable. But death was no evil to me, if the
loss of Elizabeth were balanced with it; and I there-
fore, with a contented and even cheerful countenance,
agreed with my father, that if my cousin would consent,
the ceremony should take place in ten days, and thus put,
as I imagined, the seal to my fate.

Great God ! if for one instant I had thought what might
be the hellish intention of my fiendish adversary, I would
rather have banished myself for ever from my native
country, and wandered a friendless outcast over the earth,
than have consented to this miserable marriage. But, as if
possessed of magic powers, the monster had blinded me to
his real intentions ; and when I thought that I had prepared
only my own death, I hastened that of a far dearer victim.

As the period fixed for our marriage drew nearer, whe-
ther from cowardice or a prophetic feeling, I felt my heart
sink within me. But I concealed my feelings by an ap-
pearance of hilarity, that brought smiles and joy to the
countenance of my father, but hardly deceived the ever-
watchful and nicer eye of Elizabeth. She looked forward
to our union with placid contentment, not unmingled with
a little fear, which past misfortunes had impressed, that
what now appeared certain and tangible happiness, might
soon dissipate into an airy dream, and leave no trace but
deep and everlasting regret.

Preparations were made for the event ; congratulatory
visits were received ; and all wore a smiling appearance. I
shut up, as well as I could, in my own heart the anxiety
that preyed there, and entered with seeming earnestness into
the plans of my father, although they might only serve as
the decorations of my tragedy. Through my father's ex-
ertions, a part of the inheritance of Elizabeth had been
restored to her by the Austrian government. A small
possession on the shores of Como belonged to her. It was
agreed that, immediately after our union, we should proceed

172 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

to Villa Lavenza, and spend our first days of happiness beside
the beautiful lake near which it stood.

In the mean time I took every precaution to defend my
person,, in case the fiend should openly attack me. I car-
ried pistols and a dagger constantly about me, and was ever
on the watch to prevent artifice; and by these means
gained a greater degree of tranquillity. Indeed, as the
period approached, the threat appeared more as a delusion,
not to be regarded as worthy to disturb my peace, while
the happiness I hoped for in my marriage wore a greater
appearance of certainty, as the day fixed for its solemnisa-
tion drew nearer, and I heard it continually spoken of as
an occurrence which no accident could possibly prevent.

Elizabeth seemed happy ; my tranquil demeanour pon-
tributed greatly to calm her mind. But on the day that
was to fulfil my wishes and my destiny, she was melan-
choly, and a presentiment of evil pervaded her ; and per-
haps also she thought of the dreadful secret which I had
promised to reveal to her on the following day. My father
was in the mean time overjoyed, and, in the bustle of pre-
paration, only recognised in the melancholy of his niece the
diffidence of a bride.

After the ceremony was performed, a large party assem-
bled at my father's ; but it was agreed that Elizabeth and
I should commence our journey by water, sleeping that
night at Evian, and continuing our voyage on the following
day. The day was fair, the wind favourable, all smiled on
our nuptial embarkation.

Those were the last moments of my life during which I
enjoyed the feeling of happiness. We passed rapidly along :
the sun was hot, but we were sheltered from its rays by a
kind of canopy, while we enjoyed the beauty of the scene,
sometimes on one side of the lake, where we saw Mont
Saleve, the pleasant banks of Montalegre, and at a distance,
surmounting all, the beautiful Mont Blanc, and the assem-
blage of snowy mountains that in vain endeavour to emu-
late her ; sometimes coasting the opposite banks, we saw
the mighty Jura opposing its dark side to the ambition that
would quit its native country, and an almost insurmountable
barrier to the invader who should wish to enslave it.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 173

I took the hand of Elizabeth : " You are sorrowful,
my love. Ah ! if you knew what I have suffered, and
what I may yet endure, you would endeavour to let me
taste the quiet and freedom from despair, that this one day
at least permits me to enjoy."

" Be happy, my dear Victor," replied Elizabeth ; (i there
is, I hope, nothing to distress you ; and be assured that if
a lively joy is not painted in my face, my heart is con-
tented. Something whispers to me not to depend too much
on the prospect that is opened before us ; but I will not
listen to such a sinister voice. Observe how fast we move
along, and how the clouds, which sometimes obscure and
sometimes rise above the dome of Mont Blanc, render this
scene of beauty still more interesting. Look also at the
innumerable fish that are swimming in the clear waters,
where we can distinguish every pebble that lies at the bot-
tom. What a divine day ! how happy and serene all nature
appears ! "

Thus Elizabeth endeavoured to divert her thoughts and
mine from all reflection upon melancholy subjects. But her
temper was fluctuating ; joy for a few instants shone in
her eyes, but it continually gave place to distraction and
reverie.

The sun sunk lower in the heavens ; we passed the river
Drance, and observed its path through the chasms of the
higher, and the glens of the lower hills. The Alps here
come closer to the lake, and we approached the amphi-
theatre of mountains which forms its eastern boundary.
The spire of Evian shone under the woods that surrounded
it, and the range of mountain above mountain by which it
was overhung.

The wind, which had hitherto carried us along with
amazing rapidity, sunk at sunset to a light breeze ; the soft
air just ruffled the water, and caused a pleasant motion
among the trees as we approached the shore, from which it
wafted the most delightful scent of flowers and hay. The
sun sunk beneath the horizon as we landed ; and as I
touched the shore, I felt those cares and fears revive, which
soon were to clasp me, and cling to me for ever.

174 FRANKENSTEIN j OR,

CHAPTER XXIII.

IT was eight o'clock when we landed ; we walked for a
short time on the shore, enjoying the transitory light, and
then retired to the inn, and contemplated the lovely scene of
waters, woods, and mountains, obscured in darkness, yet still
displaying their black outlines.

The wind, which had fallen in the south, now rose with
great violence in the west. The moon had reached her
summit in the heavens, and was beginning to descend ; the
clouds swept across it swifter than the flight of the vulture,
and dimmed her rays, while the lake reflected the scene of
the busy heavens, rendered still busier by the restless waves
that were beginning to rise. Suddenly a heavy storm of
rain descended.

I had been calm during the day ; but so soon as night
obscured the shapes of objects, a thousand fears arose in my
mind. I was anxious and watchful, while my right hand
grasped a pistol which was hidden in my bosom ; every
sound terrified me ; but I resolved that I would sell my
life dearly, and not shrink from the conflict until my own
life, or that of my adversary, was extinguished.

Elizabeth observed my agitation for some time in timid
and fearful silence ; but there was something in my glance
•which communicated terror to her, and trembling she asked,
" What is it that agitates you, my dear Victor ? What is
it you fear ? "

" Oh ! peace, peace, my love," replied I ; " this night,
and all will be safe : but this night is dreadful, very
dreadful."

I passed an hour in this state of mind, when suddenly I
reflected how fearful the combat which I momentarily ex-
pected would be to my wife, and I earnestly entreated her
to retire, resolving not to join her until I had obtained
some knowledge as to the situation of my enemy.

She left me, and I continued some time walking up and
down the passages of the house, and inspecting every corner

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 175

that might afford a retreat to my adversary. But I dis-
covered no trace of him, and was beginning to conjecture
that some fortunate chance had intervened to prevent the
execution of his menaces ; when suddenly I heard a shrill
and dreadful scream. It came from the room into which
Elizabeth had retired. As I heard it, the whole truth
rushed into my mind,, my arms dropped, the motion of
every muscle and fibre was suspended ; I could feel the
blood trickling in my veins, and tingling in the extremities
of my limbs. This state lasted but for an instant ; the
scream was repeated, and I rushed into the room.

Great God ! why did I not then expire ! Why am I
here to relate the destruction of the best hope,, and the
purest creature of earth ? She was there, lifeless and in-
animate, thrown across the bed, her head hanging down,
and her pale and distorted features half covered by her hair.
Every where I turn I see the same figure — her bloodless
arms and relaxed form flung by the murderer on its bridal
bier. Could I behold this, and live ? Alas ! life is obsti-
nate, and clings closest where it is most hated. For a mo-
ment only did I lose recollection j I fell senseless on the
ground.

When I recovered, I found myself surrounded by the
people of the inn j their countenances expressed a breath-
less terror : but the horror of others appeared only as a
mockery, a shadow of the feelings that oppressed me. I
escaped from them to the room where lay the body of Eliza-
beth, my love, my wife, so lately living, so dear, so worthy.
She had been moved from the posture in which I had first
beheld her ; and now, as she lay, her head upon her arm,
and a handkerchief thrown across her face and neck, I
might have supposed her asleep. I rushed towards her,
and embraced her with ardour ; but the deadly languor and
coldness of the limbs told me, that what I now held in my
arms had ceased to be the Elizabeth whom I had loved and
cherished. The murderous mark of the fiend's grasp was
on her neck, and the breath had ceased to issue from her
lips.

While I still hung over her in the agony of despair, I
happened to look up. The windows of the room had before

176 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

been darkened., and I felt a kind of panic on seeing the
pale yellow light of the moon illuminate the chamber. The
shutters had been thrown back ; and, with a sensation of
horror not to be described, I saw at the open window a
figure the most hideous and abhorred. A grin was on the
face of the monster ; he seemed to jeer, as with his fiendish
finger he pointed towards the corpse of my wife. I rushed
towards the window, and drawing a pistol from my bosom,
fired ; but he eluded me, leaped from his station, and, run-
ning with the swiftness of lightning, plunged into the
lake.

The report of the pistol brought a crowd into the room.
I pointed to the spot where he had disappeared, and we
followed the track with boats ; nets were cast, but in vain.
After passing several hours, we returned hopeless, most of
my companions believing it to have been a form conjured
up by my fancy. After having landed, they proceeded to
search the country, parties going in different directions
among the woods and vines.

I attempted to accompany them, and proceeded a short
distance from the house ; but my head whirled round, my
steps were like those of a drunken man, I fell at last in a
state of utter exhaustion ; a film covered my eyes, and my
skin was parched with the heat of fever. In this state I
was carried back, and placed on a bed, hardly conscious of
what had happened ; my eyes wandered round the room,
as if to seek something that I had lost.

After an interval, I arose, and, as if by instinct, crawled
into the room where the corpse of my beloved lay. There
were women weeping around — I hung over it, and joined
my sad tears to theirs — all this time no distinct idea pre-
sented itself to my mind; but my thoughts rambled to
various subjects, reflecting confusedly on my misfortunes,
and their cause. I was bewildered in a cloud of wonder
and horror. The death of William, the execution of Jus-
tine, the murder of Clerval, and lastly of my wife ; even at
that moment I knew not that my only remaining friends
were safe from the malignity of the fiend ; my father even
now might be writhing under his grasp, and Ernest might
be dead at his feet. This idea made me shudder, and re-

THE MODERN PROMETHEU&. 177

called me to action. I started up, and resolved to return
to Geneva with all possible speed.

There were no horses to be procured,, and I must return
by the lake j but the wind was unfavourable, and the rain
fell in torrents. However, it was hardly morning, and I
might reasonably hope to arrive by night. I hired men to
row, and took an oar myself; for I had always experienced
relief from mental torment in bodily exercise. But the
overflowing misery I now felt, and the excess of agitation
that I endured, rendered me incapable of any exertion. I
threw down the oar ; and leaning my head upon my hands,
gave way to every gloomy idea that arose. If I looked up,
I saw the scenes which were familiar to me in my happier
time, and which I had contemplated but the day before in
the company of her who was now but a shadow and a re-
collection. Tears streamed from my eyes. The rain had
ceased for a moment, and I saw the fish play in the waters
as they had done a few hours before ; they had then been
observed by Elizabeth. Nothing is so painful to the human
mind as a great and sudden change. The sun might shine,
or the clouds might lower : but nothing could appear to me
as it had clone the day before. A fiend had snatched from
me every hope of future happiness : no creature had ever
been so miserable as I was ; so frightful an event is single
in the history of man.

But why should I dwell upon the incidents that fol-
lowed this last overwhelming event? Mine has been a
tale of horrors j I have reached their acme, and what I
must now relate can but be tedious to you. Know that,
one by one, my friends were snatched away ; I was left
desolate. My own strength is exhausted ; and I must tell,
in a few words, what remains of my hideous narration.

I arrived at Geneva. My father and Ernest yet lived ;
but the former sunk under the tidings that I bore. I see
him now, excellent and venerable old man ! his eyes wan-
dered in vacancy, for they had lost their charm and their
delight — his Elizabeth, his more than daughter, whom he
doated on with all that affection which a man feels, who in
the decline of life, having few affections, clings more ear-
nestly to those that remain. Cursed, cursed be the fiend

N

178 FRANKENSTEIN ; OR,

that brought misery on his grey hairs, and doomed him to
waste in wretchedness ! He could not live under the hor-
rors that were accumulated around him ; the springs of
existence suddenly gave way : he was unable to rise from
his bed, and in a few days he died in my arms.

What then became of me ? I know not ; I lost sensa-
tion, and chains and darkness were the only objects that
pressed upon me. Sometimes, indeed, I dreamt that I
wandered in flowery meadows and pleasant vales with the
friends of my youth ; but I awoke, and found myself in a
dungeon. Melancholy followed, but by degrees I gained a
clear conception of my miseries and situation, and was then
released from my prison. For they had called me mad ; and
during many months, as I understood, a solitary cell had
been my habitation.

Liberty, however, had been an useless gift to me, had I
not, as I awakened to reason, at the same time awakened to
revenge. As the memory of past misfortunes pressed upon
me, I began to reflect on their cause — the monster whom
I had created, the miserable daemon whom I had sent abroad
into the world for my destruction. I was possessed by a
maddening rage when I thought of him, and desired
and ardently prayed that I might have him within my
grasp to wreak a great and signal revenge on his cursed
head.

Nor did my hate long confine itself to useless wishes ; I
began to reflect on the best means of securing him ; and
for this purpose, about a month after my release, I re-
paired to a criminal judge in the town, and told him that
I had an accusation to make ; that I knew the destroyer of
my family ; and that I required him to exert his whole
authority for the apprehension of the murderer.

The magistrate listened to me with attention and kind-
ness : — " Be assured, sir," said he, <e no pains or exertions
on my part shall be spared to discover the villain."

(( I thank you," replied I ; " listen, therefore, to the
deposition that I have to make. It is indeed a tale so
strange, that I should fear you would not credit it, were
there not something in truth which, however wonderful,
forces conviction. The story is too connected to be mis-

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 179

taken for a dream, and I have no motive for falsehood."
My manner, as I thus addressed him, was impressive, but
calm ; I had formed in my own heart a resolution to pur-
sue my destroyer to death ; and this purpose quieted my
agony, and for an interval reconciled me to life. I now
related my history, briefly, but with firmness and precision,
marking the dates with accuracy, and never deviating into
invective or exclamation.

The magistrate appeared at first perfectly incredulous,
but as 1 continued he became more attentive and inter-
ested ; I saw him sometimes shudder with horror, at others
a lively surprise, unmingled with disbelief, was painted on
his countenance.

When I had concluded my narration, I said, " This is
the being whom I accuse, and for whose seizure and punish-
ment I call upon you to exert your whole power. It is
your duty as a magistrate, and I believe and hope that your
feelings as a man will not revolt from the execution of those
functions on this occasion."

This address caused a considerable change in the physi-
ognomy of my own auditor. He Tiad heard my story with
that half kind of belief that is given to a tale of spirits and
supernatural events ; but when he was called upon to act
officially in consequence, the whole tide of his incredulity
returned. He, however, answered mildly, <e I would will-
ingly afford you every aid in your pursuit ; but the crea-
ture of whom you speak appears to have powers which
would put all my exertions to defiance. Who can fol-
low an animal which can traverse the sea of ice, and in-
habit caves and dens where no man would venture to
intrude ? Besides, some months have elapsed since the
commission of his crimes, and no one can conjecture to
what place he has wandered, or what region he may now
inhabit."

" I do not doubt that he hovers near the spot which
I inhabit ; and if he has indeed taken refuge in the
Alps, he may be hunted like the chamois, and destroyed as
a beast of prey. But I perceive your thoughts : you do not
credit my narrative, and do not intend to pursue my enemy
with the punishment which is his desert."
N 2

180 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

As I spoke, rage sparkled in my eyes ; the magistrate
was intimidated : — " You are mistaken/' said he, " I will
exert myself; and if it is in my power to seize the mon-
ster,, be assured that he shall suffer punishment propor-
tionate to his crimes. But I fear, from what you have
yourself described to be his properties, that this will prove
impracticable ; and thus, while every proper measure is
pursued, you should make up your mind to disappoint-
ment."

" That cannot be ; but all that I can say will be of little
avail. My revenge is of no moment to you ; yet, while I
allow it to be a vice, I confess that it is the devouring and
only passion of my soul. My rage is unspeakable, when I
reflect that the murderer, whom I have turned loose upon
society, still exists. You refuse my just demand : I have
but one resource ; and I devote myself, either in my life
or death, to his destruction."

I trembled with excess of agitation as I said this ; there
was a frenzy in 'my manner, and something, I doubt not,
of that haughty fierceness which the martyrs of old are
said to have possessed. But to a Genevan magistrate,
whose mind was occupied by far other ideas than those of
devotion and heroism, this elevation of mind had much the
appearance of madness. He endeavoured to soothe me as
a nurse does a child, and reverted to my tale as the effects
of delirium.

" Man," I cried, " how ignorant art thou in thy pride
of wisdom ! Cease ; you know not what it is you say."

I broke from the house angry and disturbed, and retired
to meditate on some other mode of action.

CHAPTER XXIV.

MY present situation was one in which all voluntary thought
was swallowed up and lost. I was hurried away by fury ;
revenge alone endowed me with strength and composure ;
it moulded my feelings, and allowed me to be calculating

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 181

and calm, at periods when otherwise delirium or death
would have been my portion.

My first resolution was to quit Geneva for ever ; my
country, which, when I was happy and beloved, was dear
to me, now, in my adversity, became hateful. I provided
myself with a sum of money, together with a few jewels
which had belonged to my mother, and departed.

And now my wanderings began, which are to cease but
with life. I have traversed a vast portion of the earth, and
have endured all the hardships which travellers, in deserts
and barbarous countries, are wont to meet. How I have
lived I hardly know ; many times have I stretched my
failing limbs upon the sandy plain, and prayed for death.
But revenge kept me alive ; I dared not die, and leave my
adversary in being.

When I quitted Geneva, my first labour was to gain
some clue by which I might trace the steps of my fiendish
enemy. But my plan was unsettled; and I wandered
many hours round the confines of the town, uncertain what
path I should pursue. As night approached, I found my-
self at the entrance of the cemetery where William, Eliza-
beth, and my father reposed. I entered it, and approached
the tomb which marked their graves. Every thing was
silent, except the leaves of the trees, which were gently
agitated by the wind ; the night was nearly dark ; and the
scene would have been solemn and affecting even to an
uninterested observer. The spirits of the departed seemed
to flit around, and to cast a shadow, which was felt but not
seen, around the head of the mourner.

The deep grief which this scene had at first excited
quickly gave way to rage and despair. They were dead,
and I lived ; their murderer also lived, and to destroy him
I must drag out my weary existence. I knelt on the grass,
and kissed the earth, and with quivering lips exclaimed,
" By the sacred earth on which I kneel, by the shades that
wander near me, by the deep and eternal grief that I feel,
I swear ; and by thee, O Night, and the spirits that pre-
side over thee, to pursue the daemon, who caused this mi-
sery, until he or I shall perish in mortal conflict. For
this purpose I will preserve my life : to execute this dear
N 3

182

FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

revenge, will I again behold the sun, and tread the green
herbage of earth, which otherwise should vanish from my
eyes for ever. And I call on you, spirits of the dead ; and
on you, wandering ministers of vengeance, to aid and con-
duct me in my work. Let the cursed and hellish monster
drink deep of agony; let him feel the despair that now
torments me."

I had begun my adjuration with solemnity, and an awe
which almost assured me that the shades of my murdered
friends heard and approved my devotion ; but the furies
possessed me as I concluded, and rage choked my utter-
ance.

I was answered through the stillness of night by a loud
and fiendish laugh. It rung on my ears long and heavily;
the mountains re-echoed it, and I felt as if all hell sur-
rounded me with mockery and laughter. Surely in that
moment I should have been possessed by frenzy, and have
destroyed my miserable existence, but that my vow was
heard, and that I was reserved for vengeance. The laughter
died away ; when a well-known and abhorred voice, ap-
parently close to my ear, addressed me in an audible whisper
— " I am satisfied : miserable wretch ! you have deter-
mined to live, and I am satisfied."

I darted towards the spot from which the sound pro-
ceeded ; but the devil eluded my grasp. Suddenly the broad
disk of the moon arose, and shone full upon his ghastly
and distorted shape, as he fled with more than mortal speed.

I pursued him ; and for many months this has been my
task. Guided by a slight clue, I followed the windings of
the Rhone, but vainly. The blue Mediterranean appeared ;
and, by a strange chance, I saw the fiend enter by night,
and hide himself in a vessel bound for the Black Sea. I
took my passage in the same ship ; but he escaped, I know
not how.

Amidst the wilds of Tarfcary and Russia, although he
still evaded me, I have ever followed in his track. Some-
times the peasants, scared by this horrid apparition, in-
formed me of his path ; sometimes he himself, who feared
that if I lost all trace of him, I should despair and die, left
some mark to guide me. The snows descended on my

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 183

head, and I saw the print of his huge step on the white
plain. To you first entering on life, to whom care is new,
and agony unknown, how can you understand what I have
felt, and still feel? Cold, want, and fatigue, were the
least pains which I was destined to endure; I was cursed
hy some devil, and carried about with me my eternal hell ;
yet still a spirit of good followed and directed my steps ;
and, when I most murmured, would suddenly extricate me
from seemingly insurmountable difficulties. Sometimes,
when nature, overcome hy hunger, sunk under the ex-
haustion, a repast was prepared for me in the desert, that
restored and inspirited me. The fare was, indeed, coarse,
such as the peasants of the country ate ; hut I will not
doubt that it was set there by the spirits that I had invoked
to aid me. Often, when all was dry, the heavens cloud-
less, and I was parched by thirst, a slight cloud would
bedim the sky, shed the few drops that revived me, and
vanish.

I followed, when I could, the courses of the rivers ; but
the daemon generally avoided these, as it was here that the
population of the country chiefly collected. In other places
human beings were seldom seen ; and I generally subsisted
on the wild animals that crossed my path. I had money
with me, and gained the friendship of the villagers by dis-
tributing it ; or I brought with me some food that I had
killed, which, after taking a small part, I always presented
to those who had provided me with fire and utensils for
cooking.

My life, as it passed thus, was indeed hateful to me, and
it was during sleep alone that I could taste joy. O blessed
sleep ! often, when most miserable, I sank to repose, and
my dreams lulled me even to rapture. The spirits that
guarded me had provided these moments, or rather hours,
of happiness, that I might retain strength to fulfil my pil-
grimage. Deprived of this respite, I should have sunk
under my hardships. During the day I was sustained and
inspirited by the hope of night : for in sleep I saw my
friends, my wife, and my beloved country ; again I saw
the benevolent countenance of my father, heard the silver
tones of my Elizabeth's voice, and beheld Clerval enjoying
N 4

184 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

health and youth. Often, when wearied by a toilsome
march, I persuaded myself that I was dreaming until night
should come, and that I should then enjoy reality in the
arms of my dearest friends. What agonising fondness did
I feel for them ! how did I cling to their dear forms, as
sometimes they haunted even my waking hours, and per-
suade myself that they still lived ! At such moments ven-
geance, that burned within me, died in my heart, and 1
pursued my path towards the destruction of the daemon,
more as a task enjoined by heaven, as the mechanical im-
pulse of some power of which I was unconscious, than as
the ardent desire of my soul.

What his feelings were whom I pursued I cannot know.
Sometimes, indeed, he left marks in writing on the barks
of the trees, or cut in stone, that guided me, and instigated
my fury. " My reign is not yet over,'* (these words were
legible in one of these inscriptions;) " you live, and my
power is complete. Follow me ; I seek the everlasting
ices of the north, where you will feel the misery of cold and
frost, to which I am impassive. You will find near this
place, if you follow not too tardily, a dead hare ; eat, and
be refreshed. Come on, my enemy ; we have yet to
wrestle for our lives ; but many hard and miserable hours
must you endure until that period shall arrive."

Scoffing devil ! Again do I vow vengeance ; again do I
devote thee, miserable fiend, to torture and death. Never
will I give up my search, until he or I perish ; and then
with what ecstasy shall I join my Elizabeth, and my de-
parted friends, who even now prepare for me the reward of
my tedious toil and horrible pilgrimage !

As I still pursued my journey to the northward, the
snows thickened, and the cold increased in a degree almost
too severe to support. The peasants were shut up in their
hovels, and only a few of the most hardy ventured forth to
seize the animals whom starvation had forced from their
hiding-places to seek for prey. The rivers were covered
with ice, and no fish could be procured ; and thus I was
cut off from my chief article of maintenance.

The triumph of my enemy increased with the difficulty
of my labours. One inscription that he left was in these

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 185

words: — "Prepare! your toils only begin: wrap your-
self in furs,, and provide food; for we shall soon enter
upon a journey where your sufferings will satisfy my ever-
lasting hatred."

My courage and perseverance were invigorated by these
scoffing words ; I resolved not to fail in my purpose; and,
calling on Heaven to support me, I continued with un-
abated fervour to traverse immense deserts, until the ocean
appeared at a distance, and formed the utmost boundary of
the horizon. Oh ! how unlike it was to the blue seas of
the south ! Covered with ice, it was only to be distin-
guished from land by its superior wildness and ruggedness.
The Greeks wept for joy when they beheld the Mediter-
ranean from the hills of Asia, and hailed with rapture the
boundary of their toils. I did not weep ; but I knelt
down, and, with a full heart, thanked my guiding spirit for
conducting me in safety to the place where I hoped, not-
withstanding my adversary's gibe, to meet and grapple
with him.

Some weeks before this period I had procured a sledge
and dogs, and thus traversed the snows with inconceivable
speed. I know not whether the fiend possessed the same ad-
vantages ; but I found that, as before I had daily lost ground
in the pursuit, I now gained on him : so much so, that
when I first saw the ocean, he was but one day's journey
in advance, and I hoped to intercept him before he should
reach the beach. With new courage, therefore, I pressed
on, and in two days arrived at a wretched hamlet on the
sea-shore. I enquired of the inhabitants concerning the
fiend, and gained accurate information. A gigantic mon-
ster, they said, had arrived the night before, armed with a
gun and many pistols ; putting to flight the inhabitants of
a solitary cottage, through fear of his terrific appearance.
He had carried off their store of winter food, and, placing
it in a sledge, to draw which he had seized on a numerous
drove of trained dogs, he had harnessed them, and the
same night, to the joy of the horror-struck villagers, had
pursued his journey across the sea in a direction that led to
no land ; and they conjectured that he must speedily be

186

FRANKENSTEIN I OR,

destroyed by the breaking of the ice, or frozen by the
eternal frosts.

On hearing this information,, I suffered a temporary
access of despair. He had escaped me ; and I must com-
mence a destructive and almost endless journey across the
mountainous ices of the ocean, — amidst cold that few of
the inhabitants could long endure, and which I, the native
of a genial and sunny climate, could not hope to survive.
Yet at the idea that the fiend should live and be triumphant,
my rage and vengeance returned, and, like a mighty tide,
overwhelmed every other feeling. After a slight repose,
during which the spirits of the dead hovered round, and
instigated me to toil and revenge, I prepared for my
journey.

I exchanged my land-sledge for one fashioned for the
inequalities of the Frozen Ocean ; and purchasing a plen-
tiful stock of provisions, I departed from land.

I cannot guess how many days have passed since then ;
but I have endured misery, which nothing but the eternal
sentiment of a just retribution burning within my heart
could have enabled me to support. Immense and rugged
mountains of ice often barred up my passage, and I often
heard the thunder of the ground sea, which threatened my
destruction. But again the frost came, and made the
paths of the sea secure.

By the quantity of provision which I had consumed, I
should guess that I had passed three weeks in this journey;
and the continual protraction of hope, returning back upon
the heart, often wrung bitter drops of despondency and
grief from my eyes. Despair had indeed almost secured
her prey, and I should soon have sunk beneath this misery.
Once, after the poor animals that conveyed me had with
incredible toil gained the summit of a sloping ice-mountain,
and one, sinking under his fatigue, died, I viewed the
expanse before me with anguish, when suddenly my eye
caught a dark speck upon the dusky plain. I strained my
sight to discover what it could be, and uttered a wild cry
of ecstasy when I distinguished a sledge, and the distorted
proportions of a well-known form within. Oh ! with
what a burning gush did hope revisit my heart ! warm

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 187

tears filled my eyes, which I hastily wiped away, that they
might not intercept the view I had of the daemon ; but
still my sight was dimmed by the burning drops, until,
giving way to the emotions that oppressed me, I wept
aloud.

But this was not the time for delay : I disencumbered
the dogs of their dead companion, gave them a plentiful
portion of food ; and, after an hour's rest, which was ab-
solutely necessary, and yet which was bitterly irksome to
me, I continued my route. The sledge was still visible;
nor did I again lose sight of it, except at the moments
when for a short time some ice-rock concealed it with its
intervening crags. I indeed perceptibly gained on it ; and
when, after nearly two days' journey, I beheld my enemy at
no more than a mile distant, my heart bounded within me.

But now, when I appeared almost within grasp of my
foe, my hopes were suddenly extinguished, and I lost
all trace of him more utterly than I had ever done before.
A ground sea was heard ; the thunder of its progress, as
the waters rolled and swelled beneath me, became every
moment more ominous and terrific. I pressed on, but in
vain. The wind arose ; the sea roared ; and, as with the
mighty shock of an earthquake, it split, and cracked with a
tremendous and overwhelming sound. The work was soon
finished : in a few minutes a tumultuous sea rolled between
me and my enemy, and I was left drifting on a scattered
piece of ice, that was continually lessening, and thus pre-
paring for me a hideous death.

In this manner many appalling hours passed ; several of
my dogs died ; and I myself was about to sink under the
accumulation of distress, when I saw your vessel riding at
anchor, and holding forth to me hopes of succour and life.
I had no conception that vessels ever came so far north, and
was astounded at the sight. I quickly destroyed part of
my sledge to construct oars ; and by these means was en-
abled, with infinite fatigue, to move my ice-raft in the di-
rection of your ship. I had determined, if you were going
southward, still to trust myself to the mercy of the seas
rather than abandon my purpose. I hoped to induce you
to grant me a boat with which I could pursue my enemy.

188 FRANKENSTEIN; on,

But your direction was northward. You took me on board
when my vigour was exhausted,, and I should soon have
sunk under my multiplied hardships into a death which I
still dread — for my task is unfulfilled.

Oh! when will my guiding spirit, in conducting me to
the daemon,, allow me the rest I so much desire ; or must I
die, and he yet live ? If I do, swear to me, Walton, that
he shall not escape ; that you will seek him, and satisfy my
vengeance in his death. And do I dare to ask of you to
undertake my pilgrimage, to endure the hardships that I
have undergone ? No ; I am not so selfish. Yet, when I
am dead, if he should appear ; if the ministers of vengeance
should conduct him to you, swear that he shall not live — -
swear that he shall not triumph over my accumulated woes,
and survive to add to the list of his dark crimes. He is
eloquent and persuasive; and once his words had even power
over my heart : but trust him not. His soul is as hellish as
his form, full of treachery and fiendlike malice. Hear him
not ; call on the manes of William, Justine, Clerval, Eli-
zabeth, my father, and of the wretched Victor, and thrust
your sword into his heart. I will hover near, and direct
the steel aright.

WALTON, in continuation.

August 26th, 17 — .

You have read this strange and terrific story, Margaret ;
and do you not feel your blood congeal with horror, like
that which even now curdles mine ? Sometimes, seized with
sudden agony, he could not continue his tale ; at others,
his voice broken, yet piercing, uttered with difficulty the
words so replete with anguish; His fine and lovely eyes were
now lighted up with indignation, now subdued to downcast
sorrow, and quenched in infinite wretchedness. Sometimes
he commanded his countenance and tones, and related the
most horrible incidents with a tranquil voice, suppressing
every mark of agitation ; then, like a volcano bursting forth,
his face would suddenly change to an expression of the
wildest rage, as he shrieked out imprecations on his per-
secutor.

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 189

His tale is connected, and told with an appearance of the
simplest truth ; yet I own to you that the letters of Felix
and Safie, which he showed me, and the apparition of the
monster seen from our ship, brought to me a greater con-
viction of the truth of his narrative than his asseverations,
however earnest and connected. Such a monster has then
really existence ! I cannot doubt it ; yet I am lost in sur-
prise and admiration. Sometimes I endeavoured to gain
from Frankenstein the particulars of his creature's form-
ation : but on this point he was impenetrable.

" Are you mad, my friend ? " said he ; ee or whither
does your senseless curiosity lead you ? Would you also
create for yourself and the world a demoniacal enemy ?
Peace, peace ! learn my miseries, and do not seek to in-
crease your own."

Frankenstein discovered that II made notes concerning
his history : he asked to see them, and then himself cor-
rected and augmented them in many places ; but princi-
pally in giving the life and spirit to the conversations he
held with his enemy. " Since you have preserved my nar-
ration," said he, " I would not that a mutilated one should
go down to posterity."

Thus has a week passed away, while I have listened to
the strangest tale that ever imagination formed. My
thoughts, and every feeling of my soul, have been drunk up
by the interest for my guest, which this tale, and his own
elevated and gentle manners, have created. I wish to soothe
him ; yet can I counsel one so infinitely miserable, so des-
titute of every hope of consolation, to live ? Oh, no ! the
only joy that he can now know will be when he composes
his shattered spirit to peace and death. Yet he enjoys one
comfort, the offspring of solitude and delirium : he believes,
that, when in dreams he holds converse with his friends,
and derives from that communion consolation for his mi-
series, or excitements to his vengeance, that they are not the
creations of his fancy, but the beings themselves who visit
him from the regions of a remote world. This faith gives
a solemnity to his reveries that render them to me almost as
imposing and interesting as truth.

Our conversations are not always confined to his own

190 FRANKENSTEIN ; OB,

history and misfortunes. On every point of general litera-
ture he displays unbounded knowledge, and a quick and
piercing apprehension. His eloquence is forcible and touch-
ing ; nor can I hear him, when he relates a pathetic inci.
dent, or endeavours to move the passions of pity or love,
without tears. What a glorious creature must he have
been in the days of his prosperity, when he is thus noble
and godlike in ruin ! He seems to feel his own worth, and
the greatness of his fall.

" When younger," said he, " I believed myself destined
for some great enterprise. My feelings are profound ; but
I possessed a coolness of judgment that fitted me for illus-
trious achievements. This sentiment of the worth of
my nature supported me, when others would have been
been oppressed ; for I deemed it criminal to throw away in
useless grief those talents that might be useful to my fellow-
creatures. When I reflected on the work I had completed,
no less a one than the creation of a sensitive and rational
animal, I could not rank myself with the herd of common
projectors. But this thought, which supported me in the
commencement of my career, now serves only to plunge me
lower in the dust. Ah1 my speculations and hopes are as
nothing ; and, like the archangel who aspired to omnipo-
tence, I am chained in an eternal hell. My imagination
was vivid, yet my powers of analysis and application were
intense ; by the union of these qualities I conceived the
idea, and executed the creation of a man. Even now I
cannot recollect, without passion, my reveries while the
work was incomplete. I trod heaven in my thoughts, now
exulting in my powers, now burning with the idea of their
effects. From my infancy I was imbued with high hopes
and a lofty ambition ; but how am I sunk ! Oh ! my
friend, if you had known me as I once was, you would not
recognise me in this state of degradation. Despondency
rarely visited my heart ; a high destiny seemed to bear me
on, until I fell, never, never again to rise."

Must I then lose this admirable being ? I have longed
for a friend ; I have sought one who would sympathise
with and love me. Behold, on these desert seas I have
found such a one ; but, I fear, I have gained him only to

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 1$1

know his value, and lose him. I would reconcile him to
life, but he repulses the idea.

" I thank you, Walton," he said, ie for your kind in-
tentions towards so miserable a wretch ; but when you speak
of new ties, and fresh affections, think you that any can
replace those who are gone ? Can any man be to me as
Clerval was; or any woman another Elizabeth? Even
where the affections are not strongly moved by any superior
excellence, the companions of our childhood always possess
a certain power over our minds, which hardly any later
friend can obtain. They know our infantine dispositions,
which, however they may be afterwards modified, are
never eradicated ; and they can judge of our actions with
more certain conclusions as to the integrity of our motives.
A sister or a brother can never, unless indeed such symp-
toms have been shown early, suspect the other of fraud or
false dealing, when another friend, however strongly he may
be attached, may, in spite of himself, be contemplated with
suspicion. But I enjoyed friends, dear not only through
habit and association, but from their own merits; and
wherever I am, the soothing voice of my Elizabeth, and
the conversation of Clerval, will be ever whispered in my
ear. They are dead; and but one feeling in such a soli-
tude can persuade me to preserve my life. If I were en-
gaged in any high undertaking or design, fraught with
extensive utility to my fellow- creatures, then could I live to
fulfil it. But such is not my destiny ; I must pursue and
destroy the being to whom I gave existence ; then my lot
on earth will be fulfilled, and I may die."

My beloved Sister, September 2d.

I write to you, encompassed by peril, and ignorant
whether I am ever doomed to see again dear England, and
the dearer friends that inhabit it. I am surrounded by
mountains of ice, which admit of no escape, and threaten
every moment to crush my vessel. The brave fellows,
whom I have persuaded to be my companions, look towards
me for aid ; but I have none to bestow. There is some-
thing terribly appalling in our situation, yet my courage
and hopes do not desert me. Yet it is terrible to reflect

FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

that the lives of all these men are endangered through me.
If we are lost, my mad schemes are the cause.

And what, Margaret, will be the state of your mind?
You will not hear of my destruction, and you will anxiously
await my return. Years will pass, and you will have visit-
ings of despair, and yet be tortured by hope. Oh ! my be-
loved sister, the sickening failing of your heart-felt expect-
ations is, in prospect, more terrible to me than my own
death. But you have a husband, and lovely children ; you
may be happy : Heaven bless you, and make you so !

My unfortunate guest regards me with the tenderest
compassion. He endeavours to fill me with hope ; and
talks as if life were a possession which he valued. He
reminds me how often the same accidents have happened to
other navigators, who have attempted this sea, and, in spite
of myself, he fills me with cheerful auguries. Even the
sailors feel the power of his eloquence : when he speaks,
they no longer despair ; he rouses their energies, and, while
they hear his voice, they believe these vast mountains of
ice are mole-hills, which will vanish before the resolutions
of man. These feelings are transitory ; each day of expect-
ation delayed fills them with fear, and I almost dread a
mutiny caused by this despair.

September 5th.

A scene has just passed of such uncommon interest, that
although it is highly probable that these papers may never
reach you, yet I cannot forbear recording it.

We are still surrounded by mountains of ice, still in
imminent danger of being crushed in their conflict. The
cold is excessive, and many of my unfortunate comrades
have already found a grave amidst this scene of desolation.
Frankenstein has daily declined in health : a feverish fire
still glimmers in his eyes ; but he is exhausted, and, when
suddenly roused to any exertion, he speedily sinks again
into apparent lifelessness.

I mentioned in my last letter the fears I entertained of a
mutiny. This morning, as I sat watching the wan coun-
tenance of my friend — his eyes half closed, and his limbs
hanging listlessly, — I was roused by half a dozen of the
sailors, who demanded admission into the cabin. They

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 193

entered, and their leader addressed me. He told me that
he and his companions had been chosen by the other sailors
to come in deputation to me, to make me a requisition,
which, in justice, I could not refuse. We were immured
in ice, and should probably never escape ; but they feared
that if, as was possible, the ice should dissipate, and a free
passage be opened, I should be rash enough to continue
my voyage, and lead them into fresh dangers, after they
might happily have surmounted this. They insisted, there-
fore, that I should engage with a solemn promise, that if
the vessel should be freed I would instantly direct my
course southward.

This speech troubled me. I had not despaired ; nor had
I yet conceived the idea of returning, if set free. Yet
could I, injustice, or even in possibility, refuse this demand?
I hesitated before I answered; when Frankenstein, who
had at first been silent, and, indeed, appeared hardly to
have force enough to attend, now roused himself ; his eyes
sparkled, and his cheeks flushed with momentary vigour.
Turning towards the men, he said —

f< What do you mean ? What do you demand of your cap-
tain ? Are you then so easily turned from your design ? Did
you not call this a glorious expedition ? And wherefore was
it glorious ? Not because the way was smooth and placid
as a southern sea, but because it was full of dangers and
terror ; because, at every new incident, your fortitude was
to be called forth, and your courage exhibited; because
danger and death surrounded it, and these you were to brave
and overcome. For this was it a glorious, for this was it
an honourable undertaking. You were hereafter to be
hailed as the benefactors of your species; your names
adored, as belonging to brave men who encountered death
for honour, and the benefit of mankind. And now, behold,
with the first imagination of danger, or, if you will, the
first mighty and terrific trial of your courage, you shrink
away, and are content to be handed down as men who had
not strength enough to endure cold and peril; and so, poor
souls, they were chilly, and returned to their warm fire-
sides. Why, that requires not this preparation ; ye need
not have corne thus far, and dragged your captain to the
o

194 FRANKENSTEIN; on,

shame of a defeat, merely to prove yourselves cowards.
Oh ! be men, or be more than men. Be steady to your
purposes, and firm as a rock. This ice is not made of
such stuff as your hearts may be ; it is mutable, and cannot
withstand you, if you say that it shall not. Do not return
to your families with the stigma of disgrace marked on your
brows. Return, as heroes who have fought and conquered,
and who know not what"it is to turn their backs on the
foe."

He spoke this with a voice so modulated to the different
feelings expressed in his speech, with an eye so full of lofty
design and heroism, that can you wonder that these men
were moved ? They looked at one another, and were unable
to reply. I spoke ; I told them to retire, and consider of
what had been said : that I would not lead them farther
north, if they strenuously desired the contrary ; but that I
hoped that, with reflection, their courage would return.

They retired, and I turned towards my friend ; but he
was sunk in languor, and almost deprived of life.

How all this will terminate, I know not ; but I had rather
die than return shamefully, — my purpose unfulfilled. Yet
I fear such will be my fate ; the men, unsupported by ideas
of glory and honour, can never willingly continue to endure
their present hardships.

September 7th. '

The die is cast ; I have consented to return, if we are not
destroyed. Thus are my hopes blasted by cowardice and
indecision ; I come back ignorant and disappointed. It
requires more philosophy than I possess, to bear this injus-
tice with patience.

September 12th. l

It is past ; I am returning to England. I have lost my
hopes of utility and glory ; — I have lost my friend. But
I will endeavour to detail these bitter circumstances to you,
my dear sister ; and, while I am wafted towards England,
and towards you, I will not despond.

September 9th, the ice began to move, and roarings like
thunder were heard at a distance, as the islands split and
cracked in every direction. We were in the most imminent
peril ; but, as we could only remain passive, my chief atten-

THE MODERN" PROMETHEUS. 1Q

tion was occupied by my unfortunate guest, whose illness
increased in such a degree, that he was entirely confined to
his bed. The ice cracked behind us, and was driven with
force towards the north ; a breeze sprung from the west,
and on the llth the passage towards the south became per-
fectly free. When the sailors saw this, and that their
return to their native country was apparently assured, a
shout of tumultuous joy broke from them, loud and long-
continued. Frankenstein, who was dozing, awoke, and
asked the cause of the tumult. " They shout," I said,
" because they will soon return to England."

" Do you then really return ? "

(< Alas ! yes ; I cannot withstand their demands. I
cannot lead them unwillingly to danger, and I must return."

fc Do so, if you will ; but I will not. You may give
up your purpose, but mine is assigned to me by Heaven,
and I dare not. I am weak ; but surely the spirits who
assist my vengeance will endow me with sufficient strength."
Saying this, he endeavoured to spring from the bed, but
the exertion was too great for him ; he fell back, and
fainted.

It was long before he was restored ; and I often thought
that life was entirely extinct. At length he opened his
eyes ; he breathed with difficulty, and was unable to speak.
The surgeon gave him a composing draught, and ordered
us to leave him undisturbed. In the mean time he told
me, that my friend had certainly not many hours to live.

His sentence was pronounced; and I could only grieve,
and be patient. I sat by his bed, watching him ; his eyes
were closed, and I thought he slept ; but presently he called
to me in a feeble voice, and, bidding me come near, said
— " Alas ! the strength I relied on is gone ; I feel that I
shall soon die, and he, my enemy and persecutor, may still
be in being. Think not, Walton, that in the last moments
of my existence I feel that burning hatred, and ardent
desire of revenge, I once expressed ; but I feel myself jus-
tified in desiring the death of my adversary. During these
last days I have been occupied in examining my past con-
duct ; nor do I find it blamable. In a fit of enthusiastic
madness I created a rational creature, and was bound to-
o 2

196' FRANKENSTEIN; OB,

wards him, to assure, as far as was in my power, his hap-
piness and well-being. This was my duty ; but there was
another still paramount to that. My duties towards the
beings of my own species had greater claims to my atten-
tion, because they included a greater proportion of happiness
or misery. Urged by this view, I refused, and I did right
in refusing, to create a companion for the first creature.
He showed unparalleled malignity and selfishness, in evil :
he destroyed my friends ; he devoted to destruction beings
who possessed exquisite sensations, happiness, and wisdom;
nor do I know where this thirst for vengeance may end.
Miserable himself, that he may render no other wretched,
he ought to die. The task of his destruction was mine,
but I have failed. When actuated by selfish and vicious
motives, I asked you to undertake my unfinished work ; and
I renew this request now, when I am only induced by
reason and virtue.

" Yet I cannot ask you to renounce your country and
friends, to fulfil this task ; and now, that you are returning
to England, you will have little chance of meeting with
him. But the consideration of these points, and the well
balancing of what you may esteem your duties, I leave to
you ; my judgment and ideas are already disturbed by the
near approach of death. I dare not ask you to do what I
think right, for I may still be misled by passion.

" That he should live to be an instrument of mischief
disturbs me j in other respects, this hour, when I moment-
arily expect my release, is the only happy one which I have
enjoyed for several years. The forms of the beloved dead
flit before me, and I hasten to their arms. Farewell,
Walton ! Seek happiness in tranquillity, and avoid am-
bition, even if it be only the apparently innocent one of
distinguishing yourself in science and discoveries. Yet why
do I say this ? I have myself been blasted in these hopes,
yet another may succeed."

His voice became fainter as he spoke ; and at length,
exhausted by his effort, he sunk into silence. About half
an hour afterwards he attempted again to speak, but was
unable ; he pressed my hand feebly, and his eyes closed foe

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 197

ever, while the irradiation of a gentle smile passed away
from his lips.

Margaret, what comment can I make on the untimely
extinction of this glorious spirit ? What can I say, that
will enable you to understand the depth of my sorrow ?
All that I should express would be inadequate and feeble.
My tears flow ; my mind is overshadowed by a cloud of
disappointment. But I journey towards England, and I
may there find consolation.

I am interrupted. What do these sounds portend ? It
is midnight ; the breeze blows fairly, and the watch on deck
scarcely stir. Again ; there is a sound as of a human voice,
but hoarser ; it comes from the cabin where the remains of
Frankenstein still lie. I must arise, and examine. Good
night, my sister.

Great God ! what a scene has just taken place \ I am
yet dizzy with the remembrance of it. I hardly know whether
I shall have the power to detail it ; yet the tale which I
have recorded would be incomplete without this final and
wonderful catastrophe.

I entered the cabin, where lay the remains of my ill-fated
and admirable friend. Over him hung a form which I
cannot find words to describe ; gigantic in stature, yet un-
couth and distorted in its proportions. As he hung over the
coffin, his face was concealed by long locks of ragged hair ;
but one vast hand was extended, in colour and apparent
texture like that of a mummy. When he heard the sound
of my approach, he ceased to utter exclamations of grief
and horror, and sprung towards the window. Never did I
behold a vision so horrible as his face, of such loathsome,
yet appalling hideousness. I shut my eyes involuntarily,
and endeavoured to recollect what were my duties with
regard to this destroyer. I called on him to stay.

He paused, looking on me with wonder ; and, again

turning towards the lifeless form of his creator, he seemed

to forget my presence, and every feature and gesture seemed

instigated by the wildest rage of some uncontrollable passion.

1 ( That is also my victim ! " he exclaimed : ' e in his

murder my crimes are consummated ; the miserable series

of my being is wound to its close ! Oh_, Frankenstein !

o 3

198 FRANKENSTEIN; OR,

generous and self- devoted being ! what does it avail that I
now ask thee to pardon me ? I, who irretrievably destroyed
thee by destroying all thou lovedst. Alas ! he is cold, he
cannot answer me."

His voice seemed suffocated; and my first impulses,
which had suggested to me the duty of obeying the dying
request of my friend, in destroying his enemy, were now
suspended by a mixture of curiosity and compassion. I
approached this tremendous being ; I dared not again raise
my eyes to his face, there was something so scaring and
unearthly in his ugliness. I attempted to speak, but the
words died away on my lips. The monster continued to
utter wild and incoherent self-reproaches. At length I
gathered resolution to address him in a pause of the tem-
pest of his passion : ' ' Your repentance," I said, " is now
superfluous. If you had listened to the voice of conscience,
and heeded the stings of remorse, before you had urged
your diabolical vengeance to this extremity, Frankenstein
would yet have lived.

" And do you dream ?" said the daemon ; " do you think
that I was then dead to agony and remorse? — He," he
continued, pointing to the corpse, "he suffered not in the
consummation of the deed — oh ! not the ten-thousandth
portion of the anguish that was mine during the lingering
detail of its execution. A frightful selfishness hurried me
on, while my heart was poisoned with remorse. Think you
that the groans of Clerval were music to my ears ? My
heart was fashioned to be susceptible of love and sympathy;
and, when wrenched by misery to vice and hatred, it did
not endure the violence of the change, without torture such
as you cannot even imagine.

(< After the murder of Clerval, I returned to Switzerland,
heart-broken and overcome. I pitied Frankenstein; my
pity amounted to horror : I abhorred myself. But when I
discovered that he, the author at once of my existence and
of its unspeakable torments, dared to hope for happiness ;
that while he accumulated wretchedness and despair upon
me, he sought his own enjoyment in feelings and passions
from the indulgence of which I was for ever barred, then
impotent envy and bitter indignation filled me with an in-

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 199

satiable thirst for vengeance. I recollected my threat, and
resolved that it should be accomplished. I knew that I was
preparing for myself a deadly torture j but I was the slave,
not the master, of an impulse, which I detested, yet could
not disobey. Yet when she died! — nay, then I was not
miserable. I had cast off all feeling, subdued all anguish,
to riot in the excess of my despair. Evil thenceforth be-
came my good. Urged thus far, I had no choice but to
adapt my nature to an element which I had willingly
chosen. The completion of my demoniacal design became
an insatiable passion. And now it is ended ; there is my
last victim ! "

I was at first touched by the expressions of his misery ;
yet, when I called to mind what Frankenstein had said of
his powers of eloquence and persuasion, and when I again
cast my eyes on the lifeless form of my friend, indignation
was rekindled within me. " Wretch ! " I said, ee it is well
that you come here to whine over the desolation that you
have made. You throw a torch into a pile of buildings ;
and, when they are consumed, you sit among the ruins, and
lament the fall. Hypocritical fiend ! if he whom you
mourn still lived, still would he be the object, again would
he become the prey, of your accursed vengeance. It is
not pity that you feel ; you lament only because the victim
of your malignity is withdrawn from your power."

" Oh, it is not thus — not thus," interrupted the being;
" yet such must be the impression conveyed to you by what
appears to be the purport of my actions. Yet I seek not a
fellow-feeling in my misery. No sympathy may I ever
find. When I first sought it, it was the love of virtue,
the feelings of happiness and affection with which my
whole being overflowed, that I wished to be participated.
But now, that virtue has become to me a shadow, and that
happiness and affection are turned into bitter and loathing
despair, in what should I seek for sympathy ? I am content
to suffer alone, while my sufferings shall endure : when I
die, I am well satisfied that abhorrence and opprobrium
should load my memory. Once my fancy was soothed
with dreams of virtue, of fame, and of enjoyment. Once
I falsely hoped to meet with beings, who, pardoning my

200 FRANKENSTEIN; on,

outward form, would love me for the excellent qualities
which I was capable of unfolding. I was nourished with
high thoughts of honour and devotion. But now crime has
degraded me beneath the meanest animal. No guilt,, no
mischief, no malignity, no misery, can be found comparable
to mine. When I run over the frightful catalogue of my
sins, I cannot believe that I am the same creature whose
thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent
visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. But it
is even so; the fallen angel becomes a malignant devil.
Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and asso-
ciates in his desolation ; I am alone.

" You, who call Frankenstein your friend, seem to have
a knowledge of my crimes and his misfortunes. But, in
the detail which he gave you of them, he could not sum up
the hours and months of misery which I endured, wasting
in impotent passions. For while I destroyed his hopes, I
did not satisfy my own desires. They were for ever ardent
and craving ; still I desired love and fellowship, and I
was still spurned. Was there no injustice in this ? Am
I to be thought the only criminal, when all human kind
sinned against me? Why do you not hate Felix, who
drove his friend from his door with contumely ? Why do
you not execrate the rustic who sought to destroy the
saviour of his child ? Nay, these are virtuous and imma-
culate beings ! I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an
abortion, to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on.
Even now my blood boils at the recollection of this
injustice.

" But it is true that I am a wretch. I have murdered
the lovely and the helpless ; I have strangled the innocent
as they slept, and grasped to death his throat who never
injured me or any other living thing. I have devoted my
creator, the select specimen of all that is worthy of love
and admiration among men, to misery ; I have pursued
him even to that irremediable ruin. There he lies, white
and cold in death. You hate me; but your abhorrence
cannot equal that with which I regard myself. I look on
the hands which executed the deed ; I think on the heart
in which the imagination of it was conceived, and long for

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. 201

the moment when these hands will meet my eyes, when
that imagination will haunt my thoughts no more.

" Fear not that I shah1 be the instrument of future mis-
chief. My work is nearly complete. Neither yours nor
any man's death is needed to consummate the series of my
being, and accomplish that which must be done ; but it
requires my own. Do not think that I shall be slow to
perform this sacrifice. I shall quit your vessel on the ice-
raft which brought me thither, and shall seek the most
northern extremity of the globe ; I shall collect my funeral
pile, and consume to ashes this miserable frame, that its
remains may afford no light to any curious and unhallowed
wretch, who would create such another as I have been. I
shall die. I shall no longer feel the agonies which now consume
me, or be the prey of feelings unsatisfied, yetun quenched. He
is dead who called me into being ; and when I shall be no
more, the very remembrance of us both will speedily vanish.
I shall no longer see the sun or stars, or feel the winds play
on my cheeks. Light, feeling, and sense will pass away ;
and in this condition must I find my happiness. Some
years ago, when the images which this world affords first
opened upon me, when I felt the cheering warmth of sum-
mer, and heard the rustling of the leaves and the warbling
of the birds, and these were all to me, I should have wept
to die j now it is my only consolation. Polluted by crimes,
and torn by the bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but
in death ?

" Farewell ! I leave you, and in you the last of human
kind whom these eyes will ever behold. Farewell, Frank-
enstein ! If thou wert yet alive, and yet cherished a desire
of revenge against me, it would be better satiated in my
life than in my destruction. But it was not so; thou
didst seek my extinction, that I might not cause greater
wretchedness ; and if yet, in some mode unknown to me,
thou hadst not ceased to think and feel, thou wouldst not
desire against me a vengeance greater than that which I
feel. Blasted as thou wert, my agony was still superior to
thine ; for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle
in my wounds until death shall close them for ever.

202 FRANKENSTEIN.

ff But soon," he cried, with sad and solemn enthusiasm,
" I shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon
these burning miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my
funeral pile triumphantly, and exult in the agony of the
torturing flames. The light of that conflagration will fade
away ; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds.
My spirit will sleep in peace ; or if it thinks, it will not
surely think thus. Farewell."

He sprung from the cabin-window, as he said this, upon
the ice-raft which lay close to the vessel. He was soon borne
away by the waves, and lost in darkness and distance.

THE END.

LONDON:

Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode,
New-Street- Square,

THE

GHOST-SEEB.

THE

G H O S T-S E E R!

FROM THE GERMAN

OF

SCHILLER.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY,

NEW BURLINGTON STREET;

BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH;

AND GUMMING, DUBLIN.

1831.

Presented to the
LIBRARY of the

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

by

Mrs . Andre-w Kellogg

INTRODUCTION.

- LIFE AND WRITINGS OF SCHILLER.

" FREDERICK SCHILLER was the son of an officer in the
Bavarian army, who subsequently attained the rank of
major, and served in the campaigns for the disputed suc-
cession. Frederick was born at Marbach, a little town in
Wurtemburgh, on the 10th day of November, 1759, and
was finally bred to the surgical profession. His early
education was not very favourable for the developement of
those great powers which he afterwards discovered, and
which burst forth with sudden and impetuous vigour at the
age of nineteen, as if indignant at the scholastic discipline
and restraints which had been imposed upon them. Schiller
pursued his studies at the public seminary of Ludwigsburg,
and for several years he went through the regular examin-
ations preparatory to the clerical profession. As he grew
older, however, he performed his tasks with less docility
and alacrity; he imbibed no very deep regard for the
classics as they were there inculcated ; while the scholastic
forms and regulations proved still more irksome to him.
Even at that early age, he began to discover the peculiar
bias of his genius : he was fond of walking, reading, and
studying alone ; he sought Nature in her loneliest scenes ;
and would stand gazing on the heavens, or watching the
progress of the storm. He continued at this seminary
upwards of six years ; the most irksome and unprofitable,
according to his own admission, that he ever spent. He
was compelled to drudge through all the preliminary forms
and examinations, indiscriminately insisted upon in the
Stutgard system, under the patronage and dictation of the
A 2

4 INTRODUCTION.

reigning Duke. In this wretched servitude he went through
a course of legal study, which he was only permitted to
relinquish in favour of that of medicine, to which he was
little more adapted or attached. Instead of taking down
notes of the lectures, he was secretly perusing Shakspeare ;
and procured small editions of Klopstock, Herder, Goethe,
Garve, and Lessing, the father of the modern drama of
Germany. Early inspired by a perusal of them, he pro-
duced an epic poem, like our own Pope, at the age of four-
teen ; which he as judiciously, however, destroyed.

<l In his second effort, he at once assumed a high rank
as one of the popular dramatists of the country. This was
his tragedy of ' The Robbers,' composed at the age of
nineteen ; and almost appallingly impressed with the most
striking characteristics of a daring, enthusiastic, and impa-
tient spirit. Wild and extravagant as it must be allowed
to be, it was the production, so to say, of a future great
writer — the luxurious promise of a glorious harvest — the
struggle of a lofty mind at issue with its destiny, exhibiting
the whole of its gigantic, but untutored strength. The re-
putation obtained by this, and two subsequent pieces —
' The Conspiracy of Fiesco/ and ' Intrigue and Love,'—
soon brought Schiller advantageous offers from the theatre
of Manheim, one of the best conducted in Germany.
During his engagement here, he projected a translation of
Shakspeare's plays, though the tragedy of Macbeth was the
only one which he presented to his countrymen in a new
dress ; but he judiciously abandoned the undertaking, and
entered upon the subject of Don Carlos, which he borrowed
from the French of the Abbe St. Real. At the same period
he was engaged in a variety of minor works ; one of which
was a theatrical journal, in which several scenes of his
' Don Carlos' first made their appearance. Dramatic essays
and poetical effusions, published in the same journal, like-
wise occupied much of his time. Though commenced in
his twenty-fifth year, this tragedy was not completed until
long afterwards ; nor did it appear entire until 1 794, when
he was more than thirty-five years of age. Nearly at the
same time he began his series of ' Philosophical Letters,'
which, throughout, display singular ardour and boldness of

INTRODUCTION. £

enquiry on a great diversity of topics. Schiller now became
one of the most popular writers of his age, and he daily
received gratifying proofs of it, both of a public and private
kind. He himself relates one which he considered the
most pleasing of all — a present of two beautiful miniature
portraits from the fair originals, accompanied by a very
elegant pocket-book, and letters filled with the most flatter-
ing compliments to his genius.

fc Upon closing his engagements at Manheim, Schiller
took up his residence at Leipsic, where he became acquainted
with a number of eminent contemporaries, among whom
were Professor Huber, Zollikofer, Hiller, Oeser, and the
celebrated actor Reinike. Soon after his arrival, finding
himself somewhat disappointed in the extent of his literary
views, he had serious intentions of adopting the medical
profession, to which his final academic studies had been
directed ; but this idea was again abandoned, and he re-
sumed his literary occupations with increased ardour and
activity. Though ranking among the chief ornaments of his
country as a poet and a dramatist, he still sighed for fresh
fields of enterprise, for which he was every way qualified,
and in which he ultimately gathered more brilliant and un-
fading laurels. At no period did he produce more important
works, than during his residence at Dresden. It was there
he first began to devote his nights, as well as a large portion
of the day, to intellectual labour, — a habit which no consti-
tution could long withstand. Besides the interruptions he
was so frequently liable to in the day, he was fond of
spending his mornings in the woods, or upon the banks of
the Elbe; sometimes sailing upon its bosom; sometimes
wandering, with a book, in its solitary vicinity. He spent
a portion of the evening in society ; and then came the
baneful night, invariably set apart for the most difficult
and abstracted pursuits. It was thus he most probably laid
the foundation of his subsequent maladies, and his premature
decease. About the year 1787, he visited Weimar, in order
to cultivate a personal acquaintance with some of his most
celebrated contemporaries. He was there introduced to
Wieland, already advanced in years, and to Herder ; and
was the warm reception he met with, that he declared
A 3

6' INTRODUCTION.

his intention of fixing his residence at Weimar, then con-
spicuous for the numher of its distinguished writers.
Goethe was next added to the list of his acquaintance ; but
not, during some period at least, to that of his friends.
Men of totally opposite minds and character, in a literary
view, their first meeting is described as having been some-
what singular ; by no means cordial and pleasing. Schiller
being much younger, and of a reserved temper, was rather
surprised, than attracted, by the perfect ease and openness,
the versatility and extent of information, which Goethe's
conversation exhibited ; and declared, after the interview,
that he and Goethe were cast in different moulds, that they
lived in different worlds, and that it was almost impossible
for them ever to understand, or become ultimately acquainted
with each other. f Time, however,' he concluded, ' will
try/ It is gratifying to add, that they subsequently grew
sincerely attached to each other, assisted in the same under-
takings, and for some period, resided with each other. On
Schiller's removal to Jena, where he succeeded Eichhorn in
the professorship of history, he entered into a matrimonial
connection with a lady of the name of Lengefeld, to whom
he had some time before been attached. In a letter to one
of his friends, he thus alludes to the event, many months
afterwards: — f How different does life now begin to ap-
pear, seated at the side of a beloved wife, instead of being
forsaken and alone, as I have so long been ! '

" During his professorship, Schiller entered upon his
history of the Thirty Years' War, a work which appeared
in 1791- This is universally admitted to be his chief
historical performance, no less in Germany than in other
countries. A just comparison, however, can scarcely be
instituted, his previous work upon the Netherlands having
unfortunately never been carried to a conclusion. In the
year HQl, he suffered a very severe attack upon his lungs,
from which he with difficulty recovered, after it had greatly
shattered his constitution. Still, with returning strength,
he resumed his labours with equal ardour, and was never
heard to utter a complaint. It was on his recovery, that
Schiller, for the first time, studied the new Kantean doc-

INTRODUCTION. 7

trine, though it does not appear how far he proceeded through
the labyrinths of the transcendental terminology.

" A number of productions, amongst which ranks the
most finished specimen of his dramatic labours, ' Wallenstein/
followed his partial restoration to health. But the ardour
and impetuosity with which he composed, and which was
become too habitual to him for restraint, more especially in
his lyric pieces, and his tragedies, brought on a dangerous
relapse/ All human aid, and human hope, proved alike in
vain; and on the 9th day of May, 1805, his disorder
reached its crisis, and Schiller, only in his forty-sixth year,
had but a few hours to live.

" Early that morning he grew delirious ; but soon this
was observed gradually to subside, and he appeared to be
settling into a deep slumber. In this state, after continuing
during several hours, he awoke about four o'clock in the
afternoon, with entire composure, and a perfect conscious-
ness of his situation. His manner was firm and tranquil :
he took a tender farewell of his friends and family ; and on
being asked how he felt, he replied, s Only calmer and
calmer.' He once spoke with a happy and lively air ;
' Many things are now becoming clearer and clearer to
me !' Soon afterwards he relapsed into deep sleep, be-
came more and more insensible, though still calm,, and in
that state he almost imperceptibly expired.

f{ Schiller wrote but few prose fictions, though these few
are enough to display the great powers he possessed. The
' Geisterseher/ of which the following is a translation, is the
most important and most striking of its kind." *

This singular romance was written in Dresden, in which
town Schiller became enamoured of a beautiful lady, who
has been designated by some of his biographers as ' ' Fraulein

A ." The intercourse which subsisted between the

poet and his charmer appears not to have been of the most
reputable kind ; but it is certain that, for a time, she held
exclusive possession of his heart, and that she even in-
fluenced his writings. She was the original of the Princess
Eboli, in his play of Don Carlos ; and it is probable that
his passion for her might have suggested that important

* Roscoe's German Novelists, vol. iii
A 4

8 INTRODUCTION.

part of his story of "the Ghost-Seer" which delineates
the mad love entertained by the Prince, for the lady whose
fascinations first enthralled him, as he saw her under the
rays of the setting sun, praying in the evening solitude of
the church in Venice. During his residence in Dresden,
and whilst under the intoxicating influence just mentioned,
Schiller's mind might well be supposed to have been in an
unsettled state ; but, though unguided by any determinate
and wholesome purpose, it ( ' hovered among a multitude of
vast plans," and was on the watch for any object that
might give consistency to his views. (< The Ghost-Seer"
is the first product arising out of this mental fermentation.
Its origin may be traced to the tricks of a certain Count
Cagliostro, the prince of quacks, whose juggleries were,
about that time, turning the heads of the good people at
Paris, who paid their money lavishly, in order to be ter-
rified, and to ft snatch a fearful joy."

" The Ghost-Seer" is unquestionably one of the " curi-
osities of literature." It is alone of its kind ; and, perhaps,
there is no work in the circle of romance, in which the
reader is so irresistibly impelled through the pages ; or
wherein his longing is more acutely excited for a solution
of the mystery of the plot. The agency, supernatural as it
seems, is, however, all the effect of imposture and extensive
confederacy ; though even a knowledge of this, in which
the reader is made to participate early in the story, does
not abate his wonder at the incidents, or lessen the interest
he takes in the characters. If any objection may be made
to the scheme of the tale, it might be said that it is too in-
tricate; that the conspiracy against the Prince, and the
counter-conspiracy to save him, perplex the attention of
him who would trace the windings of the labyrinth. Still,
who does not feel a keen sympathy in the bewilderment of the
amiable but feeble-minded victim of the conspirators? Who
does not participate in the honest wishes of the two Eng-
lishmen, who strive to protect him from snares such as never
before were spread for the ruin of a human being ? Who
can look without awe at the inscrutable Armenian, or con-
template, unless with a heart-thrill, the terrific agency which
his cunning and his science are able to evoke ?

O. C.

THE

GHOST-SEER

Narrative of the Count O .

I AM about to relate an occurrence, which, to many persons,
will appear incredible,, yet to which I was myself, in great
part, an eye-witness. The few who are acquainted with a
certain political occurrence, will (if these leaves should find
them alive) have a perfect key to the publication; but without
this key, it will be looked upon as an addition to the history
of deceit and artifice so often imposed upon mankind. The
boldness of the undertaking, which malice was able to con.
jecture and to pursue, must excite astonishment; while
the singularity of the means employed, is calculated to
create no less surprise. Genuine, bold truth, will conduct
my pen ; for when these leaves go into the world, I shall
probably be no more, and shall never experience the credi
with which they are received.

It was on my return to Courland, in the year 17— •>
about the time of the Carnival, that I paid a visit to the
Prince of W in Venice. We had known each other
in the P military service, and renewed here an ac

quaintance which peace had interrupted. As I wished to
see the remarkable city of Venice, the Prince easily per-
suaded me to bear him company, and to delay my departure
from hence until his remittances, which were expected every
day, arrived. We agreed to live together as long as our
stay at Venice should last, and the Prince was so kind as to
offer to share his habitation with me at the Moor Hotel.

10 THE GHOST-SEER.

He lived in disguise, because he wished to enjoy himself,
and his little income did not permit him to maintain the
dignity of his rank. Two cavaliers, upon whose secrecy
he could entirely rely, composed (besides some trusty ser-
vants) his whole household. He shunned expense more
from temperance than economy. He fled from diversions
of all kinds ; and at the age of thirty-five years, it may be
said, that he had resisted all the charms of that voluptuous
city. The fair sex was not regarded by him : gravity, and
an almost profound melancholy, overshadowed his mind.
His passions were still, but obstinate to excess ; his choice
slow and fearful ; his attachment warm and lasting. Locked
up in his own visionary ideas, he often was a stranger to
the world about him ; arid, conscious of his own deficiency
in the knowledge of mankind, he very seldom observed that
line of conduct which influences those who are wary and
suspicious. No one, perhaps, was more exposed than he,
to suffer himself to be influenced and commanded by the
opinion of others. No one was more liable to mental
weakness; but as soon as he was once convinced, he possessed
equal courage to combat an acknowledged prejudice, and to
die for a new one. As the third prince of his house, he could
not have any views for the sovereignty; his ambition, there-
fore, on that point, was never awakened : his passion had
taken quite another direction. Conscious of his own aversion
to being governed by the opinion of others, he never forced
his own upon any person as a law. The peaceable paths
of solitude, and a private life, were the summit of his
wishes. He read much, but without selection. A narrow
education, together with being initiated into the military
service early in life, served to check all application to the
study of literature ; all the knowledge which he afterward,
acquired added but little to his ideas. He was a Protestants
as all his family had been, by birth, not by enquiry, which
he never attempted, though he was, in a certain epoch of
his life, an enthusiast ; he never, to my knowledge, became
a free-mason.

One evening we, as usual, took a walk by ourselves,
very well masked, upon St. Mark's Place. As it grew late,
and the people were dispersing, the Prince observed that a

THE GHOST-SEER. 11

mask followed us every where. The mask was an Arme-
nian,, and walked alone. We doubled our steps, and sought
by striking into different turns of our road to lose him, but
in vain., for he always remained close behind us.

ff You have not had, I hope, any intrigue here ? " said
the Prince at last to me. tf The husbands at Venice are
very dangerous." " I know not one lady," I replied.
" Let us sit down here, and speak German," he continued :
' ' I imagine they mistake us for some other persons." We
sat down upon a stone bench, and expected that the mask
would pass by. He came straight towards us, and took his
seat very close by the side of the Prince ; who drew out his
watch, and said rather loud, in French, rising at the same
time from his seat, "Nine — come! we forget that they
wait for us at the Louvre." This was only a pretence to
deceive the mask as to our route. "Nine !" repeated the
mask in the same language, very expressively and slowly.
" Wish yourself joy, Prince (whilst he called him by his
right name) ; at nine o'clock he died" With this he rose,
and went away : we looked at one another very much
amazed. " Who is dead ? " said the Prince, after a long
silence. " Let us follow him," said I, " and request an
explanation."

We hurried through all the by-ways of St. Mark, but
the mask was not to be found. Chagrined at our bad
success, we proceeded to our hotel. The Prince spoke not
a word in our way home, but walked apart from me, ap.
parently in deep reflection, and greatly agitated, as he
afterwards confessed to me. When we got home, assum-
ing an air of gaiety — " It is indeed laughable," said he,
t( that a madman should thus be able to disturb the tran-
quillity of a person's mind by a couple of words."

We wished each other a good night ; and as soon as I
was in my own room, I noted in my pocket-book the day
and the hour when this extraordinary event happened — it
was upon a Thursday. The following evening the Prince
said to me, — " Let us take a walk again to St. Mark's
Place, and try to discover this mysterious Armenian. I
am very anxious to unravel this adventure."

I agreed to the proposal, and we remained till eleven

12 THE GHOST-SEER.

o'clock wandering about the place : the Armenian was no-
where to be seen. We repeated our visits the four following
evenings, and each time with the same bad success. The
sixth evening, when we left our hotel, I had the foresight
to tell the servants where we might be found, if there should
be any enquiry after us. The Prince observed this, and
praised my attention with a smiling countenance. There
was a great crowd upon St. Mark's Place when we arrived
there ; and we scarcely had gone thirty steps, when I
observed the Armenian, who pushed himself through the
crowd in great haste, and seemed to be in the act of
searching for somebody. We were just upon the point of

reaching him, when the Baron F , one of the Prince's

companions, came breathless towards us, and delivered a
letter to the Prince.

fe It is sealed black," said he ; and we thought that it
might contain intelligence of great consequence. It
struck me like a thunderbolt. The Prince went to a lamp,
and began to read the contents. ef My cousin is dead,"
he cried. ' ' When ? " said I, interrupting him hastily.
He once more read the letter. " Last Thursday, at nine
o'clock in the evening." We scarcely had time to recover
ourselves from our surprise, when the Armenian appeared.
" You are known here, gracious Sire," said he to the
Prince. (* Hasten to the Moor : you'll find there am-
bassadors from the Senate, and do not hesitate to accept

the honour which they will offer you. The Baron F

forgot to tell you that your remittances are arrived."

He left us precipitately, and mingled with the crowd.
We hastened to our hotel, and found every thing as the
Armenian had announced to us. Three noblemen of the
Republic were there ready to receive the Prince, and to
conduct him with splendour to the assembly, where the
first nobility of the city expected him. He had just time
enough to let me understand, by a slight hint, that he
wished me to sit up for him. About eleven o'clock at
night he returned. He came into the room serious and
thoughtful ; and, after having dismissed the servants, he
seized me by the hand. " Count," he said, in the words
of Hamlet, " there are more things in heaven and earth

THE GHOST-SEER. 13

than are dreamt of in our philosophy." " Gracious Sir/'
I replied,, " you seem to forget that you are enriched with
the prospect of a sovereignty."* " Do not remind me of
that," said the Prince ; <f I have something of greater im-
portance to me than a crown that now claims my attention,
if that Armenian has not been at guess-work." " How is
that possible. Prince ? " I replied. " Then will I resign
all my princely hope for the habit of a monk."

The following evening we went together earlier to the
market-place. A heavy shower of rain obliged us to take
shelter in a coffee-house, where we observed a number of
persons at a gaming-table. The Prince placed himself be-
hind the chair of a Spaniard to see the game played, whilst
I went into an adjoining room to read the papers. A little
time afterwards I heard a noise. Before the arrival of the
Prince, the Spaniard universally lost ; but since he entered,
the latter won upon every card. The whole game was
totally changed, and the bank was in danger of being
broken by the man whom this lucky reverse of fortune
had made bolder. The Venetian, who kept it, said to the
Prince in a surly tone, — " You have changed the luck,
and shall quit the table." The Prince looked at him
coolly, without giving him an answer, and kept his place ;
but the Venetian repeated his command in French. The
latter thought that the Prince did not understand either
language ; and, addressing himself to the company with a
sneering grin — " Tell me, gentlemen," said he, " how I
shall make myself understood by this fool ?" Hereupon
he stood up, and would have struck the Prince ; but the
Prince's patience forsaking him, he did not wait for the at-
tack, but seized the Venetian by the throat, and dashed him
with violence on the ground. This circumstance threw the
whole house into confusion. Upon hearing the uproar, I
ran into the room, and unguardedly called him by his
name. " Take care, Prince," said I, incautiously ; " we
are in Venice !"

* The deceased was the hereditary Prince, the only son of the reigning ,

who was in years, very sickly, and without the least prospect of having an heir
to his dominions. An uncle of our Prince, almost in the same situation, now
alone stood between him and the throne. I am obliged to mention this cir.
cumstancc, as the subject will be treated of in the work.

CEHMAtf EDITOR.

THE GHOST-SEER.

The name of the Prince excited an universal silence, and
soon after a confused murmur ran through the assembly,
which appeared to me to have a dangerous tendency. The
Italians present crowded round each other, and walked
aside. They soon quitted the room, one after the other,
and we found ourselves left only with the Spaniard and
several Frenchmen. " You are lost, gracious Sir," said a
Frenchman, " if you do not leave the city directly. The
Venetian, whom you have handled so roughly, is rich enough
to hire a bravo ; — it will only cost him fifty sequins to be
revenged by your death."

The Spaniard, in concert with the Frenchmen, offered to
conduct the Prince with safety to his house. We were
standing thus consulting what was best to be done, when
the door of the room was suddenly opened, and several offi-
cers of the State Inquisition entered. They produced an
order from the government, in which we were both com-
manded to follow them immediately. They conducted us
under a strong escort to a canal, where a boat waited for us.
We were ordered to embark ; but before we quitted it, our
eyes were blindfolded j and, upon our landing, we found
that they led us up a stone staircase, and then through
a long winding passage over arches, as we could discover by
the repeated echoes that sounded under our feet. We soon
arrived at another staircase, which in twenty-six steps
brought us to the bottom. We then heard a door creak
upon its hinges ; and when they took the bandage from our
eyes, we found ourselves in a spacious hall, encircled by an
assembly of venerable old men. All appeared in sable
robes ; and the hall, hung with black cloth, was dimly lighted
by a few scattered tapers. A deadly silence prevailed
through the assembly, which caused in us an awful sens-
ation, too powerful to be described. One of the old men,
who appeared to be the principal State Inquisitor, came near
to the Prince, and spoke to him with a solemn countenance,
whilst another set before him the Venetian.

" Do you acknowledge this man to be the same that you
used so roughly in the coffee-house ? " " Yes ! " answered
the Prince. Then turning to the prisoner — " Is that the
person you would bave assassinated this evening ? " The

THE GHOST-SEER. 15

prisoner answered, " Yes." Immediately the judges opened
tiie circle, and \ve saw, with the utmost horror, the head of
the Venetian separated from his shoulders. " Are you sa-
tisfied with this sacrifice ? " said the State Inquisitor. The
Prince fainted in the arms of his conductors. " Go," he
continued, with a terrible voice, as he turned towards me ;
ff and think in future more favourably of the administration
of justice in Venice."

We could not learn who our unknown friend was,
who had thus delivered us, by the arm of justice, from
the diabolical plans of the assassin. We reached our
habitation terrified in the extreme. It was midnight.

The chamberlain Z waited for us upon the stairs

with great impatience. " How lucky it was," said he to
the Prince, as he lighted us up stairs, " that you sent the
messenger as you did; the intelligence from the Baron,
which was brought to this house from the market-place, ex-
cited in us a dreadful anxiety for your safety." " I sent a
message ! " said the Prince. " When ? I know nothing of
it." <e This evening, after eight o'clock, a person arrived,
and said, we must not be alarmed if you should not return
until late at night." Here the Prince said to me, — " You,
perhaps, without my knowledge, have taken this precaution."
(f I know nothing of it," said I. " It must certainly be
so, your Highness," said the chamberlain ; " for here is
your watch, which he left with me as a proof that he had
been with you." The Prince felt his pocket immediately :
the watch was actually gone, and, looking upon that which
the chamberlain held in his hand, he acknowledged it to be
his own. te Who brought it ? " said he, with eagerness.
" An unknown mask in an Armenian habit, who imme-
diately went away." We stood and looked at each other in
silent horror. " What think you of this ? " said the Prince
at last, after a long pause ; " it is now certain that I have in
Venice a secret inspector."

The frightful transactions of this night threw the Prince
into a fever, which confined him to his room for eight days.
During this time our hotel was crowded with citizens and
strangers, who had lately learned the rank of the Prince.
They strove to vie with each other in showing civility to

16 THE GHOST-SEER.

him ; and we saw with pleasure every night how fast sus-
picion was wearing away. Love-letters and billets came
from all quarters. Every person endeavoured to make
himself useful. The whole proceedings of the State In-
quisition were no longer thought of. In the mean time,

the Court of did not wish to hasten the departure of

the Prince, and therefore gave instructions to a rich banker
in Venice to furnish him with large sums of money. Thus
he was put into a condition, contrary to his inclination, of
remaining longer in Italy ; and, agreeably to his wishes, I
consented not to hasten my departure. As soon as he was
so far recovered as to be able to leave his chamber, the
physician ordered him to make an excursion upon the
Brenta for the benefit of the air. The weather was fine,
and we soon made an agreeable party. Just as we were
about to step into the gondola, the Prince missed a key to
a little box which contained some valuable papers. We
returned immediately to look for it. He remembered
perfectly to have locked the box the day before, and since
that time he had not quitted the room. But all our efforts
to discover thekey were fruitless : we therefore abandoned the
search ; and the Prince, whose soul was above suspicion,
gave it over as lost, but requested me not to take any notice
of it. The voyage was delightfully enchanting ; the land-
scape seemed to increase in beauty and variety at every
turn of the river ; added to this, a clear sky, which, in the
middle of February, formed a May-day. The charming
gardens that surrounded the elegant country houses which
every where adorned the sides of the Brenta, together with
the majestic Venice crowned with a hundred towers, as if
rising from the water, offered us one of the most delightful
prospects in the world. We lost ourselves entirely in the
beautiful magic of the scenery around us. Our spirits
were elated ; and even the Prince assumed an air of gaiety,
and joined with us in our frolicksome pleasantry. Sweet
music occupied our attention, when we got to the shore
about two Italian miles from the town. It proceeded from
a small village where they were holding a fair. Here every
art was practised by the company. A troop of young
maidens and children, dressed in a. theatrical manner, wel-

THE GHOST-SEER. 1?

corned us with a pantomimic dance. The invention was
new: nimbleness and grace animated every motion. Before
the dance was ended, one of them, who seemed to be the
principal person, and who acted the part of the queen, sud-
denly stopped, as if restrained by an invisible power. She
stood still; all followed her example; and the music ceased.
An universal silence prevailed in the whole assembly, whilst
she remained with her eyes fixed upon the ground as in a
profound trance ; then she became as if inspired, looked
wild, and cried in a transport of joy — " A king is amongst
us !"

She arose, took her crown from her head, and placed it at
the feet of the Prince. All who were present directed their
eyes towards the Prince, who was a long time uncertain
what could be the meaning of this juggle, so well had
she acted the monkey tricks of this farce. At length an
universal clapping of hands interrupted this silence. I
looked at the Prince, and perceived that he was not a little
concerned and hurt to be examined by the enquiring eyes
of the company. He distributed money to the children,
and hastened from the crowd. We had not gone far, when
a venerable monk came from the throng, and placed himself
in the path we were pursuing.

" Sir," said the monk, " bestow some of your money
upon Madonna ; you will need her prayers."

He spoke this in a tone which startled us — the crowd,
however, soon separated him from us. Our suite was
in the mean time increased. An English lord, whom the
Prince had seen before at Nizza, several merchants from
Leghorn, a German prelate, a French abbe, with several
ladies, and a Russian officer, attached themselves to our
party. The physiognomy of this last had something so
remarkable about it, that it attracted our attention. Never
in my life did I see so many traits, and so little character ;
so much inviting benevolence, and such forbidding coldness,
painted together in one man's countenance. Every passion
seemed to have formerly dwelt there, and to have abandoned
it. Nothing remained but the still piercing look of a per-
fect man of the world. Every eye was fixed upon him

VOL. I. B

18 THE GHOST-SEER.

wherever he went. This stranger followed at a distance,
and seemed indifferent to whatever was going on. We
arrived at the booth where a lottery was kept : the ladies
bought tickets — we followed their example, and the Prince
also purchased a share. He won a snuff-box ; and, when
he opened it, I perceived him turn pale, and start back
with the utmost surprise — the little key he had lost was in
it. ' ' What is this ? " said he to me when we were alone,
with a fixed countenance ; " an unknown power pursues
me; an all-powerful being hovers over me; an invisible
agency, which I cannot flee from, watches over all my
actions. I must seek the Armenian, and obtain an ex-
planation from him."

The sun was setting as we arrived at the pleasure-house
where the supper was served up. The name of the Prince
had increased our party to the number of sixteen persons.
.Besides our former companions, a virtuoso from Rome,
several Swiss, and an adventurer from Palermo, who wore
an uniform, and gave himself out for a captain, insinuated
themselves into our society. It was agreed to spend the
whole evening here, and to return home by torchlight.
The entertainment at the table was good, and the con-
versation very sprightly ; the Prince could not refrain from
relating the adventure of the key, which excited a general
astonishment. A great dispute arose concerning this affair :
— the major part of the company had the temerity to
think all these cunning tricks depended upon witchcraft.
The Abbe, who had already drank a sufficient quantity of
wine, challenged the whole kingdom of ghosts into the ring.
The Englishman talked blasphemy, while another made
sign of the cross to aroint the devil. A few, in the number
of whom was the Prince, maintained that it was better not
to give any decided opinion upon these subjects. During
this conversation the Russian officer entertained himself
with the ladies, and seemed to be perfectly inattentive to
our discussion. In the height of this dispute, 'no one
observed that the Sicilian had retired. A short time after-
wards he returned, clothed in a mantle, and placed himself
behind the chair of the Frenchman.

" You have had the boldness/' said he, " to challenge

THE GHOST-SEER. 19

all the kingdom of ghosts. — Will you try one ? " " Yes ! "
said the Abbe,, " if you will undertake to bring one before
me." " That I will," replied the Sicilian, turning himself
about, " when these ladies and gentlemen shall have left
us." " Why so !" exclaimed the Englishman ; " a jovial
ghost will enjoy himself in such good company." " I will
not answer for the consequences/' said the Sicilian. " Oh,
heavens !" cried the ladies, and fled, terrified, from their
seats. " Let your ghost come," said the Abbe, daringly,
" but warn him beforehand that he will find here sharp-
pointed tools ; " at the same time endeavouring to bdrrow
a sword. " You may do, in that respect, as you please,"
said the Sicilian coolly, " when you see it."

Here he turned himself towards the Prince. " Gracious
Sir," said he to him, " you believe that your key was in
strange hands — can you guess in whose ? " " No."
" Do you suspect any body ? " "I had certainly a sus-
picion." " Should you know the person if you were to see
him ? " " Without doubt."

Here the Sicilian put aside his mantle, and took from
under it a looking-glass, which he held before the eyes of
the Prince. " Is this the man ? " The Prince started
back with the utmost terror. " What have you seen ? "
asked I. " The Armenian ! " The Sicilian put the glass
under his mantle. " Was that the person you meant ? "
enquired the whole company. " The very same."

Upon this, every countenance was changed, no one was
heard to laugh, and all eyes were fixed attentively upon
the Sicilian. " Monsieur Abbe," said the Englishman,
" this thing becomes serious : I advise you to think of
your retreat." " The fellow is in league with the devil,"
cried the Frenchman, and rushed out of the house. The
ladies ran shrieking from the hall — the virtuoso followed
them — the German prelate snored in his chair — the
Russian remained sitting as if perfectly indifferent to what
was passing.

" You thought, perhaps, to have excited a great laugh,"
said the Prince, " against this boaster, if he had not gone
out ; or did you intend to have performed what you pro-
mised ? " " It is true," said the Sicilian, " with the
B 2

20 THE GHOST-SEER.

Abbe I was not in earnest ; I took him at his word, be-
cause I knew that the coward would not suffer me to go
so far as to put it in execution. The thing itself is of
too serious a nature to make a joke of." tc You maintain,
then, that you have it in your power to do what you as-
serted ? " The magician was silent, and seemed to be
studying the expressive countenance of the Prince. (t Yes,"
answered he, at length.

The curiosity of the Prince was already excited to the
highest degree, for he had always believed in supernatural
beings, and this act of the Armenian brought back to his
mind all his former reflections on this subject, which
reason had in some measure driven away. He went aside
with the Sicilian, and I heard him conversing with him
very earnestly. " You have before you a man," con-
tinued he, (f who burns with impatience for an explanation
of this affair. I would esteem that man as my benefactor,
as my best friend, who would, in this respect, remove my
doubts, and dissipate the mist from my eyes. — Will you
do me this great service ? " ' ( What do you require
of me?" said the magician with thoughtfulness. "To
give me immediately a' proof of your art ; let me see an
apparition." " Why should I do this ? " " That you
may judge, from a nearer acquaintance, whether I am
worthy of higher instruction." e( I esteem you above
all others, mighty Prince. A secret power in your coun-
tenance, which you yourself are ignorant of, bound me
at first sight irresistibly to you. You are more powerful
than you are aware of. You have an undoubted right
to command all my power, but — " " Then allow me to
see an apparition." " I must be first certain that you do
not make this request out of curiosity ; for, although the
supernatural powers are subjected to my will in some
respects, it is under the sacred condition that I do not
abuse my authority." (( My motives are the purest. I
wish for an explanation of facts."

Here they left their places, and approached to a distant
window, where I could not hear what was said. The
Englishman, who had also heard this conversation, took
me aside. <c Your prince has a noble mind," said he ;

THE GHOST-SEER. 21

" but I pity him,, for I will bet my life he has to deal
with a sharper." " That will be proved/' said I, " when
he comes to investigate this matter." " Let me tell you/'
said the Englishman, " that the devil makes himself very
dear. He will not practise his art without touching the
cash. There are nine of us. We will make a collection.
This will break the neck of his scheme, and perhaps open
the eyes of the Prince." f{ I am content, said I."

The Englishman immediately threw six guineas into a
plate, and gathered in the ring. Each gave several louis.
The Russian especially was highly pleased at our pro-
posal ; he put a bank note of a hundred sequins into the
plate — a piece of extravagance which startled the English-
man. We brought the collection to the Prince. " Have
the goodness," said the Englishman, " to entreat, in our
names, that gentleman to let us see a proof of his art, and
persuade him to accept this small token of our acknowledg-
ments for his trouble." The Prince also put a costly ring
into the plate, and presented it to the Sicilian. He con-
sidered of our proposal. " Gentlemen," he began, " this
unexpected generosity is highly flattering. I obey your
wishes. Your desires shall be fulfilled." In the mean
time he rang the bell, (( With respect to this money,"
he continued, " to which I have no right, if you will give
me leave, I will present it to the nearest monastery, as a
gratuity towards so benevolent an institution. This ring I
shall always keep, as a valuable proof of the goodness of
the best of princes."

Here the master of the house entered, to whom he im-
mediately delivered the money. ee He is still a swindler,"
said the Englishman, e< although he refuses the gold. It
is done that he may get more into the Prince's favour."
Another said, " The landlord is in league with him."
' ' What would you wish to see ? " said the Sicilian to the
Prince. " Let us have a great man," said the Lord :
" challenge the Pope Ganginelli ; it will be the same to
this gentleman." The Sicilian bit his lips. " I dare not
call for one who has received extreme unction." " That
is bad," said the Englishman ; " perhaps we should learn
from him of what disorder he died." " The Marquis of
B 3

THE GHOST-SEER.

Lanoy," said the Prince, " was a French brigadier in a
former war, and my most intimate friend. In a battle
near Hastinbeck he received a deadly wound. They took
him to my tent, where he soon after died in my arms.
Before he expired — ' Prince/ said he, ' I shall never
again behold my native country ; I will therefore intrust
you with a secret, which is known to no one but myself.
In a cloister upon the borders of Flanders, there lives

a * At that instant he expired. Death destroyed the

thread of his discourse. I could wish to have him brought
before me, and to hear the conclusion of his tale." " Well
requested, by Heaven," said the Englishman ; " I shall
esteem you as the greatest conjurer in the world if you
comply with this request." We admired the wise choice
of the Prince, and unanimously gave our consent to the
proposition. In the mean time the magician walked up
and down the room with hasty steps, and seemed to be
holding a conference with himself. " And was that all
which the deceased communicated to you ? " " All."
" Did you make any further enquiries, on account of
what you heard, in his native country ? " " It was in
vain." ' f Did the Marquis of Lanoy live irreproachably ? -
for I dare not call any one I please from the dead." " He
died with penitence for the sins of his youth." " Have
you about you any token of his ? " " Yes." The Prince
had actually a snuff-box, on the lid of which a miniature
picture of the Marquis was painted in enamel, which he
usually laid near him upon the table. " I do not desire
to know what it is. Leave me alone: you shall see the
deceased."

We were desired to go into another apartment, and
wait until he called for us. At the same time he ordered
all the moveables to be taken from the hall, the windows
to be taken out, and the window shutters to be put close
to. He also ordered the landlord, with whom he had
already been conniving, to bring in a vessel filled with hot
coals, and to put out all the fires in the house carefully
with water. Before we returned, he made us all promise
that we would observe a profound silence during the whole
of what we should see or hear. All the doors of the

THE GHOST-SEER. 23

rooms behind us leading to this apartment were fastened.
The clock had struck eleven. A deadly silence prevailed
through the whole house. Before we went out, the Rus-
sian said to me — " Have we any loaded pistols with us?"
" Why ? " said I. ' e It is at all events convenient," an-
swered he. " Wait a minute, and I will go and see after
some."

He \\ent out, and the Baron and myself opened a window
which looked towards another room, and we thought we
heard people talking together, and a noise as if they were
placing a ladder under it ; but as that might only be a con-
jecture, I dared not give it out as certain. The Russian
returned with a brace of pistols, after being absent about
half an hour. We saw him load them. It was now near
two o'clock when the magician appeared again, and an-
nounced that he was prepared. Before we returned, he
ordered us to pull off our shoes, and to appear in our shirts,
stockings, and under garments. The doors as before were
all fastened. We found, when we returned into the hall,
a large circle made with coals, in which we could all stand
very conveniently. Round about the room, and by the four
walls, the boards were taken away, so that we seemed to
stand as it were upon an island. An altar, hung with
black cloth, was erected in the middle of the circle, under
which was spread a carpet of red silk ; a Chaldean Bible
lay open near a death's head upon the altar, and a silver
crucifix was fastened in the centre. Instead of candles,
spirits were burning in a silver vessel. A thick smoke of
olive wood darkened the hall, which almost extinguished the
lights. The conjurer was clothed as we were, but bare-
footed. On his bare neck he wore an amulet* suspended
by a chain of human hair. Upon his loins he wore a white
mantle, which was decorated with magical characters and
mysterious figures. He made us join hands, and maintain
a deep silence. Above all, he recommended us not to ask
the apparition any questions. He requested the English-

* Amulet was the name of a charm made of wood or other materials, and
on which was engraved particular words and characters, and worn about the
neck, to subvert the machinations of the Devil and his agents. They were
held in high esteem by the Arabs, Turks, and Jews, and particularly amongst
the Catholics.

B 4

24 THE GHOST-SEER.

man and myself (for he seemed to entertain the greatest
suspicion of us) to hold two drawn swords, steadily and cross-
wise, an inch above his head, as long as the ceremony
should last. We stood in a half circle around him. The
Russian officer pressed near to the Englishman, and stood
next to the altar. The magician placed himself upon the
carpet, with his face towards the east, sprinkled holy water
to the four points of the compass, and bowed thrice before
the Bible. A quarter of an hour passed in ceremonious
acts, perfectly unintelligible to us ; at the end of which, he
gave those a sign who stood behind him to hold him fast by
the hair. Struggling apparently with dreadful convulsions,
he called the deceased by name three times ; at the last, he
stretched out his hand towards the crucifix. We instantly
experienced a violent shock, which separated our hands. A
sudden clap of thunder shook the house to its foundation ;
at the same time the window shutters rattled, and all the
doors were burst open. The apparatus fell in pieces, and
as soon as the light was extinguished, we observed dis-
tinctly on the wall over the chimney-piece the figure of a
man clothed in a bloody garment, with a pale and livid
aspect.

" Who called me ? " cried a faint, hollow voice. ' ' Thy
friend," said the conjurer, " who venerates thy memory, and
prays for thy soul." At the same time he mentioned the
name of the Prince. "What does he want?" continued
the ghost, after a very long pause. (( He wishes to hear
your confession to the end, which you began in this world
but did not finish." ef In a cloister upon the borders of
Flanders there lives — " Here the house shook again, the
door opened of its own accord, and a violent clap of
thunder was heard, as a flash of lightning illuminated the
room. Immediately another figure, bloody and pale like the
first, appeared at the threshold. The spirits in the vase
began to burn again, and the hall was as it first appeared.

" Who is among us?" cried the magician, looking with
horror and astonishment at the spectators. " I did not
much wish for thee." The ghost immediately walked with
a slow and majestic step to the altar, and stood upon the
carpet opposite to us. It seized the crucifix, and the first

THE GHOST-SEER. 25

apparition instantly vanished. t( Who is it that has called
me ? " said the second apparition. The magician began to
tremble. Fear and astonishment almost overpowered us.
I now seized a pistol — the magician wrested it from my
hand, and fired at the ghost. The ball rolled along the
altar, and the figure remained amidst the smoke unhurt.
The magician immediately sunk down in a fit.

" What have we here?" exclaimed the Englishman
with astonishment, as he endeavoured to strike the ghost
with his sword. The apparition arrested his arm, and the
sword fell to the ground. Here the sweat of anguish started
from my forehead, and the Baron confessed to us afterwards
that he employed himself in praying. All this time the
Prince stood fearless and unmoved, with his eyes riveted
upon the figure. " Yes ! " said he at last, pathetically, " \
know thee : thou art Lanoy — thou art my friend. From
whence dost thou come ? " " I cannot divulge the mysteries
of eternity. — Ask me any question that relates to my ex-
istence on earth." " Who lives in the cloister," said the
Prince, ' ' of which you gave me notice at the hour of your
death ? " " My daughter." ' ' How ! Have you ever
been a father ? " " I would that I had not been." " Are
you not happy, Lanoy ? " " God is my judge." " Can
I not render you any service in this world ? " ee None ;
but think of yourself." " How must I do that ? " " You
will learn it at Rome."

" Immediately a clap of thunder was heard — a thick
smoke filled the room ; and when it cleared up, the figure
had vanished. I pushed open a window-shutter — it was
day-light.

The conjurer soon recovered his senses. (e Where are
we ? " he cried, when he saw the day-light. The Russian
officer stood close behind him ; and looking over his shoul-
der, " Juggler," he said, with a piercing frown, " this is
the last time thou wilt ever have it in thy power to summon
another ghost to appear on earth." The Sicilian turned
hastily round ; and, looking stedfastly in his face, uttered
a loud shriek, and fell senseless on the ground. Imme-
diately the pretended Russian was discovered by the Prince to
be no other person than his mysterious friend the Armenian.

^O THE GHOST-SEER.

No language can paint the horror this circumstance oc-
casioned in the mind of the Prince, and the consternation
that generally pervaded the company. We stood motion-
less as we surveyed this awful being, who penetrated us to
the soul with his looks. A dead silence reigned for some
minutes : at length several loud knocks at the door roused
us from a state of stupefaction. The noise continued, and
the door was soon after shattered in pieces, when several
police officers, with a guard, rushed into the hall. " Here
we find them altogether," cried the commander, turning to
his followers. fs In the name of the government," (ad-
dressing himself to us) cried he, " I arrest you all."

We had scarcely time to recollect ourselves, ere we were
all surrounded by the guard. The Russian, whom I shall
now call the Armenian, took the commander aside ; and
notwithstanding the confusion we were in, I observed that
he whispered something in his ear, and showed him a paper,
at the sight of which the man bowed respectfully and re-
tired— as he passed us he took off his hat. " Forgive
me, gentlemen," said he, " for having confounded you with
this impostor. I will not ask who you are; this person
assures me that I have men of honour before me."

In the mean time he gave his people a hint to withdraw
from us. He commanded them, however, to seize the
Sicilian, and to bind him. " This fellow has reigned long
enough," added he ; " we have been upon the watch for him
these seven months."

The miserable wretch was indeed an object of pity.
The sudden fright which the second apparition occasioned,
and the unexpected reproach from the Armenian, had over-
powered his senses. He suffered himself to be bound with-
out the least opposition. His eyes rolled in his head, and
a death-like paleness spread itself over his countenance, as
at intervals he heaved convulsive sighs. Every moment
we expected that he would become frantic. The Prince
pitied his distress, and undertook to solicit his discharge
from the leader of the police, to whom he discovered his
rank. " Gracious Prince," said the officer, " do you know
who this man is ? and for whom you so generously inter-
cede ? The tricks which he practised to deceive you are the

THE GHOST-SEER. 2?

least of his crimes. We have already secured his accom-
plices, and they have discovered transactions which he has
been concerned in of the most horrid nature. He may
think himself well off if he escapes with banishment to the
galleys."

In the mean time we observed the landlord and his family
fettered and led through the yard. " Is that man guilty ?"
cried the Prince j cc what has he done ? " ' ' He was his
accomplice/' said the officer,, " and assisted him in his
mountebank tricks and robberies, and shared the spoil with
him. I will convince you immediately, gracious Sir, of the
truth of my assertion" (turning towards his followers).
ff Search the house/' he cried, " and bring me immediately
intelligence as to what you discover."

The Prince looked for the Armenian, but he was gone.
In the confusion which this unexpected circumstance occa-
sioned, he found means to steal off without being observed.
The Prince was inconsolable: he determined to send servants
after him, and also search for him himself ; and, hurrying
with me to the window, we observed the whole house sur-
rounded by the populace, whom the account of this event
had drawn to the spot. " It is impossible to make our
way through the crowd," said I ; ee and if it is the intention
of the Armenian to elude our search, he certainly knows the
means to do it effectually : let us rather stay here a little
longer, gracious Sir. Perhaps this officer of the police can
give us some information respecting him, to whom he has,
if I have rightly observed, discovered himself."

We recollected that we were still in an undress, and pro-
mising to return soon, we hastened into a room to put on
our clothes as quickly as possible. When we came back, the
searching of the house was finished. After they had re-
moved the altar, and forced up the boards of the floor, they
discovered a vault where a man was able to sit upright,
which was separated by a secret door from a narrow stair-
case that led to a gloomy cave. In this abyss they found an
electrical machine, a clock, and a small silver beU ; which
last, as well as the electrical machine, had a communication
with the altar and the crucifix that was fixed upon it. A hole
had been made in the window-shutter opposite the chimney,

28 THE GHOST-SEER.

which opened and shut with a slide. In this hole, as we
learned afterwards, was fixed a magic lantern, from which
the figure of the ghost had been reflected on the opposite
wall over the chimney. From the garret and the cave they
brought several drums, to which large leaden bullets were
fastened by strings : these had probably been used to imitate
the roaring of thunder which we had heard. In searching
the Sicilian's clothes, they found in a case different powders,
genuine mercury in vials and boxes, phosphorus in a glass
bottle, and a ring, which we immediately knew to be mag-
netic, because it adhered to a steel button that had been
placed near to it by accident. In his coat pockets were a
rosary, a Jew's beard, a dagger, and a pocket pistol. fe Let
us see if it is loaded," said one of the watch, and fired up
the chimney. " Jesus Maria ! " cried a voice, which we
knew to be the same as that we had heard when the first
spirit appeared ; and at the same instant we beheld a bleed-
ing person tumbling down the chimney. tc What ! not yet
at rest, poor ghost?" cried the Englishman, whilst we
started back affrighted. " Go to thy grave. Thou hast
appeared what thou wast not, and now thou wilt be what
thou hast appeared." " Jesus Maria ! I am wounded ! "
replied the man. The ball had fractured his right leg.
Care was immediately taken to have the wound dressed.

<e But who art thou ? " said the English lord ; " and what
evil spirit brought thee here ? " " I am a poor solitary
monk," answered the wounded man. " A strange gentle-
man offered me a zechin to — " ' ' Repeat your magical
lesson. And why did you not withdraw immediately you
had finished ? " ' ' I was waiting for a signal to continue my
speech, as had been agreed on between us ; but as this sig-
nal was not given, I was endeavouring to get off, when I
found the ladder had been removed." " And what was the
formula he taught thee ? "

The wounded man fainted : nothing more could be
got from him. When we observed his features more
minutely, we discovered him to be the same man that stood
in the pathway of the Prince the evening before, and
asked alms for the Madonna. The Prince addressed the
leader of the watch, giving him at the same time some

THE GHOST-SEER. 29

pieces of gold. " You have rescued us/' said he, " from
the hands of a deceiver,, and done us justice even ^without
knowing us : increase our gratitude by telling us who the
stranger was, that, by speaking only a few words, pro-
cured us our liberty ? " ' ' Whom do you mean ? " asked
the officer, with a countenance which seemed to indicate that
the question was useless. " The gentleman in a Russian
uniform, who took you aside, showed you a written paper,
and whispered in your ear, in consequence of which you
immediately set us free." " Do not you know the gentle-
man ? " said the officer. et Was he not one of your com-
pany ? " " No," said the Prince ; " and I have very
important reasons for wishing to be acquainted with him."
" He is a perfect stranger to me too," replied the officer ;
" even his name is unknown to me. I saw him to-day for
the first time in my life." " How ! And was he able in
so short a space of time, and by using only a few words, to
convince you that we were all innocent ?" " Undoubtedly,
Sire, with a single word." " And this was? — I confess I
wish to know it." " This stranger, my Prince,'' (weighing
the zechins in his hand) — " you have been too generous for
me to make it any longer a mystery — this stranger is an
officer of the Inquisition." ' ' Of the Inquisition ! — What !
that man ? " " Nothing else, my Prince. I was convinced
of it by the paper which he showed to me." " That man
did you say ? It cannot be." ' ' I will tell you more, my
Prince ; it was upon his information that I have been sent
here to arrest the conjurer."

We looked at each other with the utmost astonishment.

" Now we know," said the English lord, " why the
poor devil of a sorcerer started when he came near his
face. He knew him to be a spy, and for that reason he
made such a horrible outcry, and threw himself at his
feet." " No," interrupted the Prince ; cc this man is
whatever he wishes to be, and whatever the moment re-
quires him to be. No mortal ever knew what he really
was. Did not you see the knees of the Sicilian sink under
him, when he said, with a terrible voice, ( Thou shalt no
more call a ghost.' There is something mysterious in this
matter. No person can persuade me that one man should

30 THE GHOST-SEER.

be thus alarmed at the sight of another, without some most
essential reason." " The conjurer will probably explain
it the best/' said the English lord, " if that gentleman "
(pointing to the officer) (l will procure us an opportunity of
speaking to his prisoner." The officer consented to it;
and, after having agreed with the Englishman to visit the
Sicilian in the morning, we returned to Venice. *

Lord Seymour (this was the name of the Englishman)
called upon us very early in the forenoon, and was soon
after followed by a person whom the officer had intrusted
with the care of conducting us to the prison. I forgot
to mention, that one of the Prince's domestics, a native
of Bremen, who had served him many years with the
strictest fidelity, and who possessed his confidence, had
been missing for several days. Whether he had met with
any accident, been kidnapped, or had voluntarily absented
himself, was a secret to every one. The last supposition
was extremely improbable, as his conduct had always been
regular and irreproachable. All that his companions could
recollect was, that he had been for some time very melan-
choly, and that, whenever he had a moment's leisure, he
used to visit a certain monastery in the Giudecca, where
he had formed an acquaintance with some monks. This
led us to suppose that he might have fallen into the hands
of the priests, and had been persuaded to turn Catholic.
The Prince was indifferent about matters of this kind, and
the few enquiries he caused to be made proving unsuccess-
ful, he gave up the search. He, however, regretted the
loss of this man, who had so constantly attended him in
his campaigns, — had always been faithfully attached to
him, — and whom it was therefore difficult to replace in a
foreign country. The very same day the Prince's banker,
whom he had commissioned to provide him with another
servant, came at the moment we were going out ; he pre-

* Count O , whose narrative I have thus far literally copied, describes

minutely the various effects of this adventure upon the mind of the Princi1,
and of his companions, and recounts a variety of tales of apparitions, which
this event gave occasion to introduce. I shall omit giving them to the reader,
on the supposition that he is as curious as myself to know the conclusion of
the adventure, and its effects on the conduct of the Prince. I shall only add,
that the Prince got no sleep the remainder of the night, and that lie waited
with impatience for the moment which was to disclose this incomprehensible
mystery.

THE GHOST-SEER. 31

sented to the Prince a well-dressed man, of a good appear-
ance, about forty years of age, who had been for a long
time secretary to a procurator ; spoke French and a little
German, and was besides furnished with the best recom-
mendations. The Prince was pleased with the man's
physiognomy ; and as he declared that he would be satisfied
with such wages as his service should be found to merit,
the Prince engaged him immediately.

We found the Sicilian in a private prison, where, as the
keeper assured us, he had been lodged for the present, to ac-
commodate the Prince, as he was to be confined in future
under the lead roofs, to which there is no access. These
lead roofs are the most terrible dungeons in Venice. They
are situated on the top of the Palace of St. Mark, and the
miserable criminals suffer so excessively from the heat of
the leads, occasioned by the burning rays of the sun
descending directly upon them, that they frequently become
distracted. The Sicilian had recovered from his terror,
and rose respectfully at the sight of the Prince. He had
fetters on one hand and one leg, but he was able to walk
about the room. The keeper left the dungeon as soon as
we had entered.

" I come," said the Prince, " to request an explanation
of you on two subjects. — You owe me the one, and it
shall not be to your disadvantage if you grant me the
other." " My part is now acted,' replied the Sicilian :
" my destiny is in your hands." " Your sincerity alone
can mitigate your punishment." " Ask, my Prince ; I
am ready to answer you. I have nothing more to lose."
tf You showed me the face of the Armenian in your look-
ing-glass— How was it done?" " What you saw was
no looking-glass — a portrait in pastel behind a glass, re-
presenting a man in an Armenian dress, deceived you.
The want of light, your astonishment, and my own dex-
terity, favoured the deception. The picture itself must
have been found among the other things seized at the inn."
(i But how came you so well acquainted with my ideas as
to hit upon the Armenian ? " " This was not difficult,
my Prince. You have, perhaps, frequently mentioned
your adventure with the Armenian at table, in presence of

32 THE GHOST-SEER.

your domestics. One of my servants got accidentally ac-
quainted with one of yours in the Giudecca, and soon
learned from him as much as I wished to know." " Where
is this man ? " asked the Prince ; " I miss him, and in
all probability you are acquainted with the place of his
retreat, and the reason why he deserted my service." <f I
swear to you, gracious Sir, that I know not the least of
him. I have never seen him myself, nor had any other
concern with him than the one before mentioned."

" Go on," said the Prince. " By this means also, I
received the first information of your residence, and of
your adventures at Venice j and I resolved immediately to
profit by them. Your Highness sees that I am ingenuous.
I was apprised of your intended excursion on the Brenta
— I was prepared for it : and a key, that dropped by
chance from your pocket, afforded me the first opportunity
of trying my art upon you." " How ! Have I been mis-
taken ? The adventure of the key then was a trick of
yours, and not of the Armenian ? — You say this key fell
from my pocket ? " " You accidentally dropped it in
taking out your purse, and I instantly covered it with my
foot. The person of whom you bought the lottery ticket
was in concert with me. He caused you to draw it from
a box where there was no blank, and the key had been in
the snuff-box long before it came into your possession."
' f It is almost incomprehensible — And the monk who
stopped me in my way, and addressed me in a manner so
solemn — " " Was the same that I hear has been wounded
in the chimney. He is one of my accomplices, and under
that disguise has rendered me many important services."

"But what purpose was this intended to answer?"
" To render you thoughtful : to inspire you with such a
train of ideas as should be favourable to the wonders I
intended to make you believe." " The pantomimical
dance, which ended in a manner so extraordinary, was at
least none of your contrivance." " I had taught the girl
\vho represented the queen. Her performance was the
result of my instructions. 1 supposed your Highness
would not be a little astonished to find yourself known in
this place, and (I entreat your Highness's pardon) your

THE GHOST-SEER.

adventure with the Armenian gave room for me to hope
that you were already disposed to reject natural interpret-
ations, and to search for the marvellous."

" Indeed ! " exclaimed the Prince, at once angry and
amazed, and casting upon me a significant look — " In-
deed, I did not expect this.* But," continued he, after a
long silence, " how did you produce the figure that ap-
peared on the wall over the chimney ? " ' c By means of a
magic lantern that was fixed in the opposite window-
shutter, in which you have, no doubt, observed an open-
ing." " And how did it happen that none of us

34t THE GHOST-SEER.

I asked whether you had any thing ahout you as a me-
morial of your friend. Your Highness answered in the
affirmative. I conjectured it might be the box. I had
attentively considered the picture during supper, and being
very expert in drawing, and not less happy in taking like-
nesses, I had no difficulty in giving to my shade the
superficial resemblance you have perceived, because the
Marquis's features are very striking." fc But the figure
seemed to move ?" " It appeared so; yet it was not the
figure, but the smoke which received its light." " And
the man who fell down in the chimney spoke for the
apparition ? " fe He did." " But he could not hear your
questions distinctly." " There was no occasion for it.
Your Highness will recollect, that I ordered you all very
strictly not to propose any question yourselves to the ap-
parition. My enquiries and his answers were pre-con-
certed between us ; and that no mistake might happen, I
caused him to speak at long intervals, which he counted
by the beating of a watch." " You ordered the inn-
keeper carefully to extinguish every fire in the house.
This was undoubtedly — " " To save the man from the
danger of being smothered ; because the chimneys in the
house communicate with each other, and I did not think
myself very secure from your retinue,"

f( How did it happen," asked Lord Seymour, " that your
ghost appeared neither sooner nor later than you wished
him ? " <( The ghost was in the room for some time before
I called him ; but while the room was lighted, the shade
was too faint to be perceived. When the formula of the
conjuration was finished, I caused the cover of the box, in
which the spirit was burning, to drop down ; the hall was
darkened, and it was not till then that the figure on the
wall cculd be distinctly seen, although it had been reflected
there a considerable time before." " When the ghost ap-
peared, we all felt an electrical stroke. How was that
managed ?" " You have discovered the machine under the
altar. You have also seen, that I was standing upon a silk
carpet. I ordered you to form a half moon around me,
and to take hold of each other's hand. When the crisis
approached, I gave a sign to one of you to seize me by the

THE GHOST-SEER. 35

hair. The silver crucifix was the conductor; and you felt
the electrical shock when I touched it with my hand."

" You ordered Count O and myself," continued

Lord Seymour, " to hold two naked swords across over
your head, during the whole time of the conjuration ; for
what purpose ? " " For no other than to engage your at-
tention during the operation ; because I distrusted you two
the most. You remember, that I expressly commanded
you to hold the swords one inch above my head ; by con-
fining you exactly to this distance, I prevented you from
looking where I did not wish you. I had not then per-
ceived my principal enemy."

" I own," said Lord Seymour, " you acted cautiously ;
but why were we obliged to appear undressed ? " " Merely
to give a greater solemnity to the scene, and to fill your
imaginations with the idea of something extraordinary."
" The second apparition prevented your ghost from speak-
ing," said the Prince ; " what should we have learned from
him ? " ' ' Nearly the same as what you heard afterwards.
It was not without design that I asked your Highness
whether you had told me every thing that the deceased
communicated to you, and whether you had made any
further enquiries on this subject in his country ? I thought
this was necessary, in order to prevent the deposition of
the ghost from being contradicted by facts that you were
previously acquainted with. Knowing likewise that every
man, especially in his youth, is liable to error, I enquired
whether the life of your friend had been irreproachable,
and on your answer I founded that of the ghost."

" Your explanation of this matter is in some measure
satisfactory," said the Prince ; " but there remains yet one
material circumstance which I must insist upon being cleared
up." " If it be in my power, and — " " I shall not listen
to any conditions. Justice, into whose hands you are fallen,
ought not, perhaps, to deal with you so delicately. Who
was the man at whose feet we saw you fall ? What do you
know of him ? Ho\v did you get acquainted with him ?
and what do you know of the second apparition ? " " Your

Highness " " Hesitate not a moment. Recollect,

that on looking at the Russian officer attentively, you
c 2

86

THE GHOST-SEEK.

screamed aloud, and fell on your knees before him. What
are we to understand by that?" "That man, rny Prince

• " He stopped, grew visibly pale and perplexed, and,

looking around him with an awful trepidation — " Yes,
your Highness," he continued, "that man is a terrible
being." " What do you know of him ? What connection
have you with him ? Do not conceal the truth from us."
"I will not; but — I am not certain that he is not among us
at this very moment ? ''

" Where? Who?" exclaimed we all together, looking
fearfully about the room. " It is impossible." " That
man, or whatever else he may be, is a being incompre-
hensible ; all things seem possible for him to do." " Who
is he ? Whence does he come ? Is he Armenian or Rus-
sian ? Of the characters he assumes, which is his real
one ? " <e He is not what he appears to be. There are few
conditions or countries in which he has not worn the mask.
No person knows who he is, whence he comes, or whither
he goes. Some say he has been for a long time in Egypt,
and that he has brought from thence, out of a catacomb,
his occult sciences. Here we only know him by the name
of the Incomprehensible. How old, for instance, do you
think he is ? " " To judge from his appearance, he can
scarcely have passed forty." " And of what age do you
suppose I am?" " Not far from fifty." "Well; and I
must tell you, that I was but a boy of seventeen when my
grandfather spoke to me of this extraordinary man, whom
he had seen at Famagusta ; at which time he appeared
nearly of the same age as he does at present." " Im-
possible," said the Prince; "it is ridiculous, and in-
credible."

te By no means, sir. Were I not prevented by these
fetters, I could produce vouchers that would readily confirm
my assertion. There are several credible persons who re-
member having seen him, each at the same time, in dif-
ferent parts of the globe. No sword can wound — no
poison hurt — no fire burn him — no vessel in which he
embarks can be shipwrecked or sunk : time itself seems to
have no influence over him ; years do not affect his
constitution, nor age whiten his hair. He was never seen

THE GHOST-SEER. 3?

to take any food. He is a stranger to love. No sleep
closes his eyes. Of the twenty-four hours in the day,
there is only one which he cannot command, during which
no person ever, saw him, and during which he never was
employed in any terrestrial occupation."
" And this hour is — "

<e That of midnight. When the clock strikes twelve, he
ceases to belong to the living. In whatever place he is, he
must immediately be gone ; whatever business he is engaged
in, he must instantly leave it. That dreadful hour tears
him from the arms of friendship, hurries him from the
sacred altar, and would, even in the agonies of death, drag
him from his bed. His haunt has never been discovered,,
nor his engagements at that hour known. No person
ventures to interrogate, and still less to follow him. As the
time approaches, his features are enveloped in the gloom of
melancholy, and are so terrifying that no person has courage
to look him in the face or to speak a word to him. However
lively the conversation may have been, a dead silence im-
mediately succeeds it, and all around him wait for his
return in awful horror, without venturing to quit their
seats, or to open the door through which he has passed."

" Does nothing extraordinary appear in his person when
he returns ? " " Nothing, except that he seems pale and
languid, nearly in the state of a man who has just suffered
a painful operation, or received disastrous intelligence.
Some pretend to have seen drops of blood on his linen,
but with what degree of veracity I cannot affirm." " Did
no person ever attempt to conceal the approach of this
hour from him, or endeavour to engage him in such diver-
sions as might make him forget it ? " " Once only, it is
said, he passed the fatal hour. The company was nume-
rous, and remained together until late at night. All the
clocks and watches were purposely set wrong, and the
warmth of conversation diverted his attention. When the
moment arrived, he suddenly became silent and motionless ;
his limbs continued in the position in which this instant
had arrested them ; his eyes were fixed, his pulse ceased
to beat ; all the means employed to awake him proved
fruitless, and this situation endured till the hour had
c 3

«3o THE GHOST-SEER.

elapsed ; he then revived on a sudden, and continued his
speech from the same syllable that he was pronouncing at
the moment of interruption. The general consternation dis-
covered to him what had happened; and he, declared, with
an awful solemnity, that they ought to think themselves
happy in having escaped with no other injury than fear.
The same night he quitted for ever the place where this
circumstance had occurred. The common opinion is, that
during this mysterious hour he converses with his attend-
ant spirits. Some even suppose him to be one of the
departed, who is allowed to pass twenty-three hours of
the day among the living, and that in the twenty-fourth
his soul is obliged to return to the infernal regions to suffer
its punishment. Some believe him to be the famous Apol-
lonius of Tyana*, and others the disciple of St. John the
Baptist, of whom it is said that he shall remain wandering
on the earth until the day of judgment."

" A character so wonderful," replied the Prince, " can-
not fail to give rise to extraordinary conjectures. But all
this you profess to know only by hearsay ; and yet his
behaviour to you, and yours to him, seemed to indicate a
more intimate acquaintance. Is it not founded upon some
particular event, in which yourself have been concerned?
Conceal nothing from us." The Sicilian remained silent,
as if uncertain whether he should speak or not. " If it
concern any thing," said the Prince, "that you do not

* Apollonius, a Pythagorean philosopher, was born at Tyana, in Cappadocia,
about three or four years before the birth of Christ. At sixteen years of age
he became a strict observer of Pythagorean rules, renouncing wine, women, and
all sorts of flesh ; not wearing shoes, letting his hair grow, and clothing himself
with nothing but linen. He soon after set up for a reformer of mankind, and
chose his habitation in the temple of JEsculapius, where he is said to have per-
formed many miraculous cures. On his coming of age, he gave part of his
wealth to his eldest brother, distributed another part to some poor relations,
and kept very little for himself. There are numberless fabulous stories re-
counted of him. He went five years without speaking, and yet, during this
time, he stopped many seditions in Cilicia and Pamphylia. He travelled, set
up for a legislator, and gave out that he understood all languages without
having ever learned them. He could tell the thoughts of men, and understood
he oracles which birds delivered by their singing. The Heathens opposed the
pretended miracles of this man to those of our Saviour, and gave the preference
to this philosopher. After having for a long time imposed upon the world,
and gained a great number of disciples, he died in a very Advanced age about
the end of the first century. His life, which is tilled with absurdities, was
written by Philostratus ; and M. du Pin has published a Confutation of Apol-
lonius's life, in which he proves, that the miracles of this pretended philosopher
carry strong marks of falsehood, and that there is not one which may not
b« ascribed to chance or artifice. Apollonius himself wrote some works which
are now lost.

THE GHOST-SEER. #9

wish to publish, I promise you hy my honour, and before
these gentlemen, the most inviolable secrecy ; but speak
openly, and without reserve/' te Could I hope," answered
the prisoner at last, " that you would not produce these
gentlemen as evidence against me, I would tell you a
remarkable adventure of this Armenian, to which I myself
was witness, and which will leave you no doubt of his
supernatural powers. But I beg leave to conceal some
names." " Cannot you do it without this condition ? "
" No, your Highness : there is a family concerned in it
which I must respect." " Let us hear then."

" Above five years ago, being at Naples, where I prac-
tised my art with success, I became acquainted with a

person of the name of Lorenzo del M- :, chevalier of the

order of St. Stephen ; a young and rich nobleman of one of
the first families in the kingdom, who loaded me with
civilities, and seemed to have a great esteem for my occult

science. He told me that the Marquis del M- , his

father, was a zealous admirer of the cabbala *, and would
think himself happy in having a philosopher like me (for
such he was pleased to call me) under his roof. The
Marquis resided in one of his country seats on the sea-shore,
about seven miles from Naples ; and there, almost entirely
secluded from the world, he mourned the loss of a beloved
son, of whom he had been deprived by a fatal and melan-
choly accident. The chevalier gave me to understand, that
he and his family might perhaps have occasion to employ
my secret arts in obtaining some very important intelligence,
to procure which every natural means had been exhausted
in vain. He added, with a very significant look, that
he himself might at some future period consider me as

* Cabbala is properly a mysterious kind of science delivered by revelation to
the ancient Jews, and transmitted by oral tradition to those of our times;
serving for the interpretation of difficult passages in Scripture, and to discover
future events by the combination of particular words, letters, and numbers.
It is likewise termed the oral law. But Cabbala, among the Christians, is also
applied to the use, or rather abuse, which visionaries and enthusiasts make of
Scripture for discovering futurity, by the study and consideration of the com-
bination of certain words, letters, and numbers in the sacred writings. All the
words, terms, magif characters, or figures, with stones and talismans, numbers,
letters, charms, &c. in magic operations, are comprised under this species of
Cabbala ; and the word is used for any kind of magic, on account of the re-
semblance this art bears to the Jewish Cabbala. The Jews, however, never
use the word in any such sense, but always with the utmost respect and
veneration.

c 4

4-0 THE GHOST-SEER,

the author of all his earthly happiness. I did not choose
to press him for an explanation. The affair was as fol-
lows : — Lorenzo, being the youngest son of the Marquis,
had been destined for the church. The family estates were
to devolve to the eldest. Jeronymo, which was the name
of the latter,, had spent many years on his travels, and re-
turned to his country about seven years prior to the event
which I am about to relate, in order to celebrate his mar-
riage with the only daughter of a neighbouring count.
This marriage had been determined on by the parents during
the infancy of the children, in order to unite the very large
fortunes of the two houses. But though this agreement
ivas made by the two families without consulting the hearts
of the parties concerned, the latter had secretly entertained

an affection for each other. Jeronymo del M and

Antonia C had been always brought up together; and

the little constraint imposed on two children, whom their
parents were already accustomed to regard as united, soon
produced between them a connection of the tenderest kind.
The congeniality of their tempers cemented this intimacy,
and in riper years it matured insensibly into love. An
absence of four years, far from cooling this passion, had
only served to inflame it ; and Jeronymo returned to the
arms of his intended bride as faithful and as ardent as if
they had never been separated. The raptures occasioned
by his return had not subsided, nor the preparations for
the happy day discontinued, when Jeronymo disappeared.
He used frequently to pass the afternoon in a summer-
house which commanded a prospect of the sea, and was
accustomed to take the diversion of sailing on the water.
One day, when he was at his favourite retirement, it was
observed that he remained a much longer time than usual
without returning, and his friends began to be very uneasy
on his account, Boats were despatched after him, vessels
were sent to sea in quest of him — no person had seen him
— none of his servants could have attended him, for none
of them were absent — night came on, and he did not ap-
pear. The next morning dawned — the day passed — the
evening succeeded — Jeronymo came not. Already had
they begun to give themselves up to the most melancholy

THE GHOST-SEER. 41

conjectures, when the news arrived that an Algerine pirate
had landed the preceding day on that coast, and carried off
several of the inhabitants. Two galleys, ready equipped,
were immediately ordered to sea. The old Marquis him-
self embarked in one of them, to attempt the deliverance of
his son at the peril of his own life. On the third day they
perceived the corsair. The wind was favourable — they
were just about to overtake him, and even approached so
near to him, that Lorenzo, who was in one of the galleys,
fancied that he saw, upon the deck of the adversary's ship,
a signal made by his brother — when a sudden storm sepa-
rated the vessels. Hardly could the almost shipwrecked
galleys sustain the fury of the tempest. The pirate, in the
mean time, had disappeared, and the distressed state of the
other vessels obliged them to put into Malta. The afflic-
tion of the family was beyond all bounds. The distracted
old Marquis tore his grey hairs in the utmost violence of
grief ; and the life of the young Countess was despaired of.
<f Five years were consumed after this event in fruitless
enquiries ; diligent search was made all along the coast of
Barbary ; and immense sums were offered for the ranscm
of the young Marquis, but to no purpose. The only con-
jecture founded on probability was, that the same storm
which had separated the galleys from the pirate had
destroyed the latter vessel^ and that the whole ship's
company had perished in the waves. But this supposition,
however probable, as it did not by any means amount to a
certainty, could not authorise the family to renounce the
hope that the absent Jeronymo might again appear. In
case, however, that he did not, either the family's name must
be suffered to perish, or the youngest son must relinquish
the church, and enter into the rights of the eldest. Justice
seemed to oppose the latter measure ; and, on the other
hand, the necessity of preserving the family from anni-
hilation required that the scruple should not be carried too
far. In the mean time, sorrow, added to the weight of age,
was bringing the Marquis fast to his grave. Every unsuc-
cessful attempt served to increase his distress, and diminish
the hope of finding his lost son. He saw that his name

*xS THE GHOST-SEER.

might be perpetuated by acting with a little injustice, in
consenting to favour his younger son at the expense of the

elder. The fulfilment of his agreement with Count C

required only the change of a name j for the object of the
two families was equally accomplished, whether Antonia
became the wife of Lorenzo or Jeronymo. The faint pro-
bability of the latter's appearing again weighed but little
against the certain and pressing danger of the total extinc-
tion of the family ; and the old Marquis, who considered
his dissolution fast approaching, ardently wished to die free
from this inquietude. Lorenzo alone, who was to be prin-
cipally benefited by this measure, opposed it with the
greatest obstinacy. He resisted with equal firmness the
allurements of an immense fortune, and the attractions of
a beautiful and accomplished object ready to be delivered
into his arms. He refused, on principles the most generous
and conscientious, to invade the rights of a brother, who
for any thing he knew might himself be in a capacity to
resume them.

" ' Is not the lot of my Jeronymo/ said he, ' made suf-
ficiently miserable by the horrors of a long captivity, with-
out the aggravation of being deprived for ever of all that
he holds most dear ? With what conscience could I sup-
plicate Heaven for his return, when his wife is in my arms?
With what countenance could I meet him, if at last he
should be restored to us by a miracle ? And even suppos-
ing that he is torn from us for ever, can we honour his
memory better than by keeping constantly open the chasm
which his death has caused in our circle ? Can we better
show our respects to him than by sacrificing our dearest
hopes upon his tomb, and keeping untouched, as a sacred
deposit, what was peculiarly his own ? ' But these argu-
ments of fraternal delicacy could not reconcile the old
Marquis to the idea of being obliged to witness the decay
of a tree which nine centuries had beheld flourishing. All
that Lorenzo could obtain was a delay of two years. During
this period they continued their enquiries with the utmost
diligence. Lorenzo himself made several voyages, and ex-
posed his person to many dangers. No trouble, no ex-

THE GHOST-SEER. 43

pense, was spared to recover the lost Jeronymo. These
two years, however, like those which preceded them, were
consumed in vain."

te And Antonia," said the Prince. — " You tell us nothing
of her. Could she so calmly submit to her fate ? I can-
not suppose it."

" Antonia," answered the Sicilian, " experienced the
most violent struggle between duty and inclination, between
dislike and admiration. The disinterested generosity of a
brother affected her. She felt herself forced to esteem a
person whom she could never love. Her heart, torn by con-
trary sentiments, felt the bitterest distress ; but her repug-
nance to the chevalier seemed to increase in the same
degree as his claims upon her esteem augmented. Lorenzo
perceived with heartfelt sorrow the secret grief that con-
sumed her youth* An unconquerable sympathy for her
misfortune insensibly eradicated that indifference with which
till then Lorenzo had been accustomed to consider her. But
this delusive sentiment deceived him, and an ungovernable
passion began rapidly to shake the steadiness of his virtue,
which till then had been unequalled. He, however, still
ob'eyed the dictates of generosity, though at the expense of
his love. By his efforts alone was the unfortunate victim
protected against the cruel and arbitrary proceedings of the
rest of the family. But his endeavours were ineffectual.
Every victory he gained over his passion rendered him more
worthy of Antonia ; and the disinterestedness with which
he refused her, left her without an apology for resistance.
Thus were affairs situated, when the chevalier engaged me
to visit him at his father's villa. The earnest recommend-
ation of my patron procured me a reception which ex-
ceeded my most sanguine wishes. I must not forget to
mention, that, by some remarkable operations, I had
previously rendered my name famous in different lodges
of free-masons. This circumstance perhaps contributed to
strengthen the old Marquis's confidence in me, and to
heighten his expectations. I beg you will excuse me from
describing particularly the lengths I went with him, or the
means which I employed. You may form some judgment
of them from what I have before confessed to you. Profit-

44 THE GHOST-SEER.

ing by the mystic books which I found in his very extensive
library, I was soon able to speak to him in his own lan-
guage, and to adorn my system of the invisible world with
the most extraordinary inventions. He was therefore with
so little difficulty induced to credit the fables I taught him,
that in a short time he would have believed as implicitly in
the secret commerce of philosophers and sylphs as in any
article of the canon. The Marquis, being very religious,
had acquired in the school of theology a facility of belief,
which caused him at once to be fascinated with the stories
I told him, and to put the most unreserved confidence in
my character. At length I entangled him so completely in
mystery, that he would no longer believe any thing that
was natural. In short, I became the adored apostle of the
house. The usual subject of my lectures was the exaltartiori
of human nature, and the intercourse of men with superior
things; the infallible Count Gabolis* was my oracle. An-
tonia, whose mind since the loss of her lover had been more
occupied in the world of spirits than in that of nature, and
who had a strong tincture of melancholy in her composition,
caught every hint I gave her with a fearful satisfaction.
Even the servants contrived to have some business in me
room when I was speaking, and, seizing part of my con-
versation, formed from it mysterious presages. — Two
months were passed in this manner at the Marquis's villa,
when the chevalier one morning entered my apartment.
His features had experienced a considerable alteration, and
from his sorrowful countenance I suspected that something
preyed upon his mind. — He threw himself upon a couch
with every symptom of despair.

. <( ' I am distracted, ruined/ said he ; e I must, I cannot
support it any longer.' ' What is the matter with you,
chevalier ? • What has befallen you ? ' ' Oh ! this terrible
passion ! ' said he, starting from his seat, and throwing
himself into my arms. ' I have combated against it like a
man, but can resist it no longer/ ' And whose fault is it but
your own, my dear chevalier*? Are they not all willing to
gratify this passion ? Your father ? Your relations ? '
' My father ! my relations ! What are they to me ? I want

* A mystical work written in French by the Abbe de Villars.

THE GHOST-SEER. 4)O

not to be united to her by force. Have not I a rival ?
Alas ! and what a rival ! Perhaps a dead one ! Oh ! let me
go, let me go to the end of the world ; I must find my
brother.' ' What ! after so many unsuccessful attempts,
have you still any hope ? ' ' Hope ! Alas, no ! It has long
since been banished from my heart, but it has not from
hers ; of what consequence are my sentiments ? Is it pos-
sible that I should be happy whilst there remains a gleam
of hope in Antonia's breast. Two words, my friend, would
end my torments, but in vain ; my destiny must continue
to be miserable, till eternity shall break its long silence, and
the grave shall speak in my behalf.' ' Is it then a state of
certainty that would render you happy ? ' f Happy ! Alas !
I doubt whether I shall ever be happy again ; but uncer-
tainty is of all others the most dreadful affliction.'

" After a short interval of silence, he continued with an
emotion less violent : — ' If he could see my torments ! Surely
a constancy which renders his brother miserable cannot add
to his happiness ! Can it be just, that the living should suffer
so much for the sake of the dead ; that I should fruitlessly
pine for an object which Jeronymo can no longer enjoy ?
If he knew the pangs I suffer,' (said he, concealing his face
while the tears streamed from his eyes,) ' perhaps he himself
would conduct her to my arms.' ' But is there no possibility
of gratifying your wishes ? ' He started ! ' What do you-
say, my friend ? ' ' Less important occasions than the pre-
sent,' said I, ' have disturbed the repose of the dead for the
sake of the living; is not the terrestrial happiness of a
man, of a brother — ' ' The terrestrial happiness ! Ah,
my friend, I feel but too sensibly the force of your expres-
sion — my entire felicity ! ' ' And the tranquillity of a
distressed family, are not these sufficient to justify such a
measure ? If any sublunary concern can authorise us to
interrupt the peace of the blessed, to make use of a power
— ' ' For God's sake, my friend ! ' said he, interrupting
me, fno more of this — once, I avow it, I had such a
thought ; I think I mentioned it to you ; but I have long
since rejected it as horrid and abominable.'

" You will have conjectured already," continued the Si-
cilian, " to what this conversation led us ; I endeavoured

46 THE GHOST-SEER.

to overcome the scruples of the chevalier,, and at last suc-
ceeded.— We resolved to call the ghost of the deceased Je-
ronymo ; I only stipulated for a delay of a fortnight, in
order, as I pretended, to prepare, in a suitable manner, for
an act so solemn. — The time being expired, and my ma-
chinery in readiness, I took advantage of a very gloomy day,
when we were all assembled as usual, to communicate the affair
to the family ; and not only brought them to consent to it,
but even to make it a subject of their own request. — The
most difficult part of the task was to obtain the approbation
of Antonia, whose presence was essential. — My endeavours
were, however, greatly assisted by the melancholy turn of
her mind, and perhaps still more so by a faint hope that
Jeronymo might still be living, and therefore would not ap-
pear. — A want of confidence in the thing itself was the
only obstacle which I had to remove. — Having obtained
the consent of the family, the third day was fixed on for the
operation ; I prepared then for the solemn transaction, by
mystical instruction, fasting, solitude, and prayers, which I
ordered to be continued till late in the night. — Much use
was also made of a certain musical instrument *, unknown
till that time ; and, in such cases, it has often been found
very powerful. — The effect of these artifices was so much
beyond my expectation, that the enthusiasm which on this
occasion I was obliged to show, was infinitely heightened
by that of my audience. — The long-expected moment at
last arrived."

" I guess," said the Prince, "whom you are now going to
introduce. — But go on, go on." " Your Highness is mis-
taken.— The deception succeeded according to my wishes/'
" How ! Where then is the Armenian ?" " Your Highness's
patience : he will appear but too soon. I omit the description
of the juggling farce itself, as it would be too tedious to re-
late. — It is sufficient to say, that it answered my expect-
ation ; the old Marquis, the young Countess, her mother,
Lorenzo, and several other persons of the family were pre-
sent.— You will imagine, that during my long residence in
the house I took all opportunities of gathering information
respecting every thing that concerned the deceased. — Seve-

* The JEoIian harp.

THE GHOST-SEER. 47

ral of his portraits enabled me to give the apparition a strik-
ing likeness ; and as I suffered the ghost to speak only by
signs, that the sound of his voice might excite no suspicion,
the departed Jeronymo appeared in the dress of a Moorish
slave, with a deep wound in his neck. — You observe, that
in this respect I was counteracting the general supposition
that he had perished in the waves. I had reason to hope,
that this unexpected circumstance would heighten the belief
in the apparition itself ; for nothing appeared to me more
dangerous than to be too natural."

" I think you judged well," said the Prince ; " in
whatever respects apparitions, the most probable is the
least acceptable. If their communications are easily com-
prehended, we undervalue the channel by which they are
obtained ; nay, we even suspect the reality of the miracle,
if the discoveries which it brings to light are such as might
easily have been imagined. — Why should we disturb the
repose of a spirit, to inform us of nothing more than the
ordinary powers of the intellect are capable of teaching us ?
— But, on the other hand, if the intelligence which we
receive be extraordinary and unexpected, it confirms, in
some degree, the miracle by which it is obtained ; for who
can doubt an operation to be supernatural, when its effect
could not be produced by natural means ? I have inter-
rupted you," added the Prince : " proceed in your nar-
rative." " I asked the ghost, whether there was any
thing in this world which he still considered as his own,
and whether he had left any thing behind that was par-
ticularly dear to him ? The ghost thrice shook his head,
and lifted up his hands towards heaven. Previous to his
retiring, he dropped a ring from his finger, which was found
on the floor after he had disappeared ; Antonia took it,
and, looking at it attentively, she knew it to be the wed-
ding-ring she had presented to her intended husband."

" The wedding-ring ! " exclaimed the Prince, with sur-
prise. " How did you get it ? " " Who ? — I ! — It
was not the true one ! — I procured it. — It was only a
counterfeit." " A counterfeit !" repeated the Prince. " But
in order to counterfeit, you must have been in possession
of the true one. How did you come at it ? Surely the

48 THE GHOSJ--SEER.

deceased never went without it." fc That is true," replied
the Sicilian, apparently confused. (i But, from a descrip-
tion which was given me of the original wedding-ring — "
( f A description which was given you ! by whom ? "
ff Long before that time. It was a plain gold ring, and
had, I believe, the name of the young Countess engraved
on it. But you make me lose the connection."

" What happened farther ? " said the Prince, with a
very dissatisfied countenance. fc The family fancied them-
selves convinced that Jeronymo was no more. From that
very day they publicly announced his death, and went
into mourning. The circumstance of the ring left no
doubt even in the mind of Antonia, and added a consider-
able weight to the addresses of the chevalier. In the
mean time, the violent impression which the young Coun-
tess had received from the sight of the apparition brought
on her a disorder so dangerous, that the hopes of Lorenzo
were very near being destroyed for ever. On her recover-
ing, she insisted upon taking the veil ; and it was only by
the serious remonstrances of her confessor, in whom she
placed an implicit confidence, that she was brought to
abandon her project. At length, the united solicitations of
the family, aided by the confessor, wrested from her the
desired consent. The last day of mourning was fixed on
for the day of marriage, and the old Marquis determined
to add to the solemnity of the occasion, by resigning all
his estates to his lawful heir. The day arrived, and
Lorenzo received his trembling bride at the altar. In the
evening, a splendid banquet was prepared for the guests,
in a hall superbly illuminated. The most lively and de-
lightful music contributed to increase the general joy of
the assembly. The venerable Marquis wished all the
world to participate in his felicity. The gates of the
palace were thrown open, and every one that came in was
joyfully welcomed. In the midst of the throng "

The Sicilian paused — a trembling expectation sus-
pended our breath. " In the midst of the throng," con-
tinued the prisoner, " appeared a Franciscan monk, to
whom my attention was directed by a person who sat next
to me at table. He was standing motionless like a marble

THE GHOST-SEER. 49

pillar. His shape was tall and thin ; his face pale and
ghastly; his aspect grave and mournful; and his eyes
were fixed on the new-married couple. The joy which
beamed on the face of every one present, appeared not on
his. His countenance never once varied. He seemed
like a statue among living persons. Such an object, ap-
pearing amidst the general joy, struck me more forcibly
from its contrast with every thing around me. It left on
my mind so durable an impression, that from it alone I
have been enabled (which would otherwise have been im-
possible) to recollect in the Russian officer the features of
this Franciscan monk ; for without doubt you must have
already conceived, that the person I have described was no
other than your Armenian. I frequently attempted to
withdraw my eyes from this figure, but they returned in-
voluntarily, and found him always unaltered. I pointed
him out to the person who sat nearest to me on the other
side, and he did the same to the person next to him. In
a few minutes, a general curiosity and astonishment per-
vaded the whole company. The conversation languished ;
a general silence succeeded ; nor did the monk interrupt
it. He continued motionless, and always the same ; his
grave and mournful looks constantly fixed upon the new-
married couple : — His appearance struck every one with
terror. The young Countess ak»ne, who found the tran-
script of her own sorrow in the face of the stranger, beheld
with a sullen satisfaction the only object that seemed to
sympathise in her sufferings. The crowd insensibly di-
minished, for it was past midnight. The music became
faint and languid ; the tapers grew dim, and many of them
went out. The conversation, declining by degrees, lost
itself at last in secret murmurs, and the faintly illuminated
hall was nearly deserted. The monk, in the mean time,
continued motionless, his grave and mournful look still
fixed on the new-married couple. The company at length
rose from the table. The guests dispersed. The family
assembled in a separate group, and the monk, though un-
invited, continued near them. How it happened that no
person spoke to him, I cannot conceive. The female
friends now surrounded the trembling bride, who cast a

VOL. I. D

50 THE GHOST-SEER.

supplicating and distressed look on the awful stranger ;
but he did not answer it. The gentlemen assembled in
the same manner around the bridegroom. A solemn and
anxious silence prevailed among them.

" At length — ' How happy we are here together ! '
said the old Marquis, who alone seemed not to behold the
stranger,, or at least seemed to behold him without dismay.
— e How happy we are here together ! and yet my son Jero-
nymo cannot be with us ! ' ' Have you not invited him,
and did not he answer your invitation ? ' asked the monk. It
was the first time he had spoken. We looked at him
alarmed. ' Alas ! he is gone to a place whence there is
no return/ answered the old man. ' Reverend father, you
misunderstood me ; — my son Jeronymo is dead.' ' Per-
haps he only fears to appear in this company/ replied the
monk. ' Who knows how your son Jeronymo may be
situated > Let him now hear the voice which he heard
the last. Desire your son Lorenzo to call him.' ( What
does he mean ? ' whispered the company one to another.

" Lorenzo changed colour. My own hair almost stood
erect on my head. In the mean time the monk approached
a sideboard. He took a glass of wine, and bringing it to
his lips, — ' To the memory of our dear Jeronymo/ said
he : ' every one who loved the deceased will follow my
example.' ' Wherever you come from, reverend father,'
exclaimed the old Marquis, e you have pronounced a
dearly beloved name, and you are welcome here / then
turning to us, he offered us full glasses — ' Come, my
friends ! let us not be surpassed by a stranger. The
memory of my son Jeronymo !' Never, I believe, was
any toast less heartily received. ' There is one glass left,'
said the Marquis. ' Why does my son Lorenzo refuse to
pay this friendly tribute ? ' Lorenzo tremblingly received
the glass from the hands of the monk, — tremblingly he
put it to his lips. — ( My dearly beloved brother Jero-
nymo ! ' . The name trembled on his tongue, and, being
seized with horror, he replaced the glass unemptied.
f That is the voice of my murderer !' exclaimed a terrible
figure, which appeared instantaneously in the midst of us,
covered with blood, and disfigured with horrible wounds.

THE GHOST-SEER. 51

' " But ask nothing further from me," added the Sicilian,
with every symptom of horror in his countenance. " I
lost my senses the moment I looked at this apparition. The
same happened to every one present. When we recovered,
the monk and the ghost had disappeared. Lorenzo was in
the agonies of death. He was carried to hed in the most
dreadful convulsions. No person attended him hut his
confessor and the sorrowful old Marquis, in whose presence
he expired ; — the Marquis died a few weeks after him.
Lorenzo's secret is concealed in the bosom of the priest
who received his last confession, and no person ever learned
what it was. Soon after this event, a deep well was cleaned
in the farm yard of the Marquis's villa. It had been dis-
used many years, and the mouth of it was almost closed up
by shrubs and old trees. A 'skeleton was found among
the rubbish. The house where this happened is now no

more; the family del M is extinct, and Antonia's

tomb may be seen in a convent not far from Salerno."

Astonishment kept us silent. " You see," continued
the Sicilian, " how my acquaintance with the Russian
officer, Armenian or Franciscan friar, has originated. Judge
whether I had not cause to tremble at the sight of a being
who has twice placed himself in my way in a manner so
terrible." te I beg you will answer me one question more,"
said the Prince, rising from his seat ; t( Have you been
sincere in your account of the chevalier ? " " Yes, your
Highness, to the best of my knowledge." " You really
believe him to be an honest man?" " I do, by heaven 1
I believe him to be an honest man." " Even &t the time
that he gave you the ring ? " " How ! he gave me no
ring. I did not say that he gave me the ring."

te Very well ! " said the Prince, pulling the bell, and
preparing to depart. " And you believe" (going back to
the prisoner) " that the ghost of the Marquis de Lanoy,
which the Russian officer introduced after your apparition,
was a real ghost ? " "I cannot think otherwise." " Let
us go!" said the Prince, addressing himself to us. The
gaoler came in. " We have done," said the Prince to
him. " As for you," turning to the prisoner, " you shall
hear farther from me." " I am tempted to ask your High-
D 2

52 THE GHOST-SEER.

ness the last question you proposed to the conjurer/' said
I to the Prince, when we were alone. " Do you believe
the second ghost to have been a real one ? " (t I believe
it ! No, not now, most assuredly." " Not now ? Then
you did once believe it." (( I confess I was tempted for a
moment to believe it to have been something more than
the contrivance of a juggler ; and I could wish to see the
man, who under similar circumstances would not have
formed the same supposition." " But what reason have
you for altering your opinion ? What the prisoner has
related of the Armenian, ought to increase rather than
diminish your belief in his supernatural powers."

' ' What this wretch has related of him ! " said the
Prince, interrupting me very gravely. " I hope," con-
tinued he, " you have not now any doubt that we have
had to do with a villain." " No ; but must his evidence
on that account — " " The evidence of a villain ! Sup-
pose I had no other reason for doubt, the evidence of such
a person can be of no weight against common sense and
established truth. Does a man who has already deceived
me several times, and whose trade it is to deceive, does he
deserve to be heard in a cause in which the unsupported
testimony of even the most sincere adherent to truth could
not be received ? Ought we to believe a man who per-
haps never once spoke truth for its own sake ? Does such
a man deserve credit, when he appears as evidence against
human reason and the eternal laws of nature ? Would it
not be as absurd as to admit the accusation of a person
notoriously infamous against unblemished and reproachless
innocence ? " " But what motives could he have for giv-
ing so great a character to a man whom he has so many
reasons to hate ? " " I am not to conclude that he can
have no motives for doing this, because I am unable
to comprehend them ? Do I know who has bribed him to
.deceive me? I confess I cannot penetrate through the
mystery of this plan ; but he has certainly done a material
injury to the cause he contends for, by showing himself at
least an impostor, and perhaps something worse." ec The
circumstance of the ring, I allow, appears suspicious."

" It is more than suspicious ; it is decisive. He received

THE GHOST-SEEB. 53

this ring from the murderer. Let us even suppose the
circumstances he has related are true ; at the moment he
received it, he must have been certain that it was from the
perpetrator of the murder. Who hut the assassin could
have taken from Jeronymo's finger a ring, which he un-
doubtedly never was without ? Throughout the whole of
his narration, the Sicilian has laboured to persuade us,
that while he was endeavouring to deceive Lorenzo, Lo-
renzo was in reality deceiving him. Would he have had
recourse to this subterfuge, if he had not been sensible that
he should lose much of our confidence, by confessing him-
self an accomplice with the assassin ? The whole story is
visibly nothing but a series of impostures, invented merely
to connect the few truths he has thought proper to give us.
Ought I then to hesitate in disbelieving the eleventh as-
sertion of a person who has already deceived me ten times,
rather than admit a violation of the fundamental laws of
nature, which I have ever found in the most perfect har-
mony ? " " I have nothing to reply to all this ; but the
apparition we saw is to me not the less incomprehensible."
" It is also incomprehensible to me, although I have been
tempted to find a key to it." " How ? " " Do not you
recollect that the second apparition, as soon as he entered,
walked directly up to the altar, took the crucifix in his
hand, and placed himself upon the carpet ? " " It ap-
peared so to me." (f And this crucifix, according to the
Sicilian's confession, was a conductor. You see, that the
apparition hastened to make himself electrical. Thus the
blow which Lord Seymour struck him with his sword,
must of necessity be ineffectual, the electric stroke having
disabled his arm." " That is true with respect to the
sword. But the pistol fired by the Sicilian, the ball of
which rolled slowly upon the altar — " " Are you con-
vinced that this was the same ball which was fired from
the pistol ? Not to mention that the puppet, or the man
who represented the ghost, may have been so well ac-
coutred as to be invulnerable by swords or bullets; but
consider who had loaded the pistols."

et True," said I ; and a sudden light darted into my
mind. " The Russian officer had loaded them, but it was
D 3

34 THE GHOST-SEER.

in our presence. How could he have deceived us?"
ff Why should he not have deceived us ? Did you suspect
him sufficiently to observe him ? Did you examine the
ball before it was put into the pistol ? It may have been
one of quicksilver or clay. Did you take notice whether
the Russian officer really put it into the barrel, or dropped
it into his other hand? But supposing that he actually
loaded the pistols, how can you be sure that he did not
leave them behind him, and take some unloaded ones into
the room where the ghost appeared. He might very easily
have exchanged them while we were undressing. No per-
son ever thought of noticing him in particular. It is very
possible, too, that the figure, at the moment when we were
prevented from seeing it by the smoke of the pistol, might
have dropped another ball on the altar. Which of these
conjectures is impossible?" " Your Highness is right-
But that striking resemblance to your deceased friend ! I
have often seen him with you, and I immediately recog-
nised him in the apparition." " I did the same, and I must
confess the illusion was complete ; but as the juggler, from
a few secret glances at the snuff-box, was able to give to
his apparition such a likeness as deceived us both, what was
to prevent the Russian officer (who had used the box during
the whole time of supper, who had liberty to observe the
picture unnoticed, and to whom I had discovered in confi-
dence the person it represented) from doing the same ?
Add to this, what has been before observed by the Sicilian,
that the prominent features of the Marquis were so striking
as to be easily imitated. What now remains to be explained
respecting the second ghost ? " " The words he uttered,
the information he gave you about your friend/' " What !
Did not the juggler assure us, that from the little which he
had learned from me, he had composed a similar story ?
Does not this prove that the invention was obvious and na-
tural ? Beside, the answers of the ghost, like those of an
oracle, were so obscure, that he was in no danger of being
detected in a falsehood. If the man who personated the
ghost possessed sagacity and presence of mind, and knew
ever so little of the affairs on which he was consulted, to
what length might he not have carried the deception ?"

THE GHOST-SEER. 55

ff I beg your Highness to consider, how much preparation
such a complicated artifice would have required from the
Armenian ; what a time it requires to paint a face with
sufficient exactness ; what a time would have been requisite
to instruct the pretended ghost, so as to guard him against
gross errors ; what a degree of minute attention to regulate
every attendant or adventitious circumstance which might
be useful or detrimental. And remember, that the Russian
officer was absent but half an hour. Was that short space
sufficient to make even such arrangements as were indis-
pensably necessary ? Surely not. Even a dramatic writer,
who has the least desire to preserve the three unities of
Aristotle, durst not venture to load the interval between one
act and another with such a variety of actions, or to sup-
pose in his audience such a facility of belief." " What !
You think it absolutely impossible that every necessary pre-
paration should have been made in the space of half an
hour." " Indeed, I look upon it as almost impossible."
" I do not understand this expression. Does it militate
against the laws of time and space, or of matter and motion,
that a man so ingenious and so expert as this Armenian
must necessarily be, assisted by agents whose dexterity and
acuteness are probably not inferior to his own, provided
with such means and instruments as a man of this profes-
sion is never without; is it impossible that such a man,
favoured by such circumstances, should effect so much in
so short a time ? Is it absurd to suppose, that by a very
small number of words or signs, he can convey to his as-
sistants very extensive commissions, and direct very com-
plex operations ? Nothing ought to be admitted against the
established laws of nature, unless it is something with
which these laws are absolutely incompatible. Would you
rather give credit to a miracle than admit an improbability ?
Would you solve a difficulty rather by overturning the
powers of nature, than by believing an artful and uncommon
combination of them ? "

et Though the fact will not justify a conclusion such as you
have condemned, you must grant that it is far beyond our
conception." Cl I am almost tempted to dispute even this,"
said the Prince, with a sarcastic smile. " What would you

56 THE GHOST-SEER.

say, my dear Count, if it should be proved, for instance, that
the operations of the Armenian were prepared and carried
on not only during the half hour that he was absent from
us, not only in haste and incidentally, but during the whole
evening and the whole night ? You recollect that the
Sicilian employed near three hours in preparation/' " The
Sicilian, your Highness!" "And how will you convince
me that this juggler had not as much concern in the second
apparition as in the first ? " " How ! " " That he was not
the principal assistant of the Armenian ; in a word, how
will you convince me that they did not co-operate ? " ' ' It
would be a difficult task to prove that they did/' exclaimed
I, with no little surprise.

" Not so difficult, my dear Count, as you imagine.
What ! could it have happened by mere chance that these
two men should form a design so extraordinary and so
complicated upon the same person, at the same time, and in
the same place ? Could mere chance have produced such
an exact harmony between their operations, that one of
them should appear as if subservient to the other ? Sup-
pose the Armenian has intended to heighten the effect of
his deception, by introducing it after a less refined one ;
that he has created a Hector to make himself an Achilles.
Suppose he has done all this, to see what degree of cre-
dulity he should find in me ; to examine the avenues to my
confidence ; to familiarise himself with his subject by an
attempt that might have miscarried without any prejudice
to his plan ; in a word, to try the instrument on which he
intended to play. Suppose he has done this with a view to
draw my attention on himself, in order to divert it from
another object more important to his design. Lastly, sup-
pose he wishes to have imputed to the juggler some indirect
methods of information which himself has had occasion to
practise."

" What do you mean ? " " It is possible that he may
have bribed some of my servants to give him secret intelli-
gence, or perhaps some papers which may serve his purpose.
One of my domestics has absconded. What reason have I
to think that the Armenian is not concerned in his leaving
me ? Such a connection, however, if it exists, may be ac-

THE GHOST-SEER. 57

cidentally discovered ; a letter may be intercepted ; a
servant who is in the secret may betray his trust. Now
all the consequence of the Armenian is destroyed,, if I de-
tect the source of his omniscience ; he therefore introduces
this juggler, who must be supposed to have the same or
some other design upon me. He takes care to give me
early notice of him and his intentions, so that whatever I
may hereafter discover, my suspicions must necessarily rest
upon the Sicilian. This is the puppet with which he
amuses me, whilst he himself, unobserved and unsuspected,
is entangling me in invisible snares." " We will allow
this. But is it consistent with the Armenian's plan, that
he himself should destroy the illusion which he has created,
and disclose the mysteries of his science to the eyes of the
profane ? "

( ' What mysteries does he disclose ? None, surely,
which he intends to practise on me; he therefore loses
nothing by the discovery. But, on the other hand, what an
advantage will he gain if this pretended victory over
juggling and deception should render me secure and unsus-
pecting ; if he succeeds in diverting my attention from the
right quarter (I mean himself), and in fixing my wavering
suspicions on an object most remote from the real one. If
at any time, either from my own doubts or at the sug-
gestion of another, I should be tempted to seek in the occult
sciences for a key to his mysterious wonders, how could he
better provide against such an enquiry than by contrasting
his prodigies with the tricks of the juggler ? By confining
the latter within artificial limits, and by delivering, as it
were, into my hands, a scale by which to appreciate them,
he naturally exalts and perplexes my ideas of the former.
How many suspicions does he preclude by this single con-
trivance ! How many methods of accounting for his
miracles, which might afterwards have occurred to me,
does he refute beforehand!" ei But in exposing such a
finished deception, he has very much counteracted his own
interest, both by quickening the penetration of those whom
he meant to impose upon, and by staggering their belief of
miracles in general. If he had had such a plan, your
Highness's self is the best proof of its insufficiency."

58 THE GHOST-SEEB.

" Perhaps he has heen mistaken in respect to myself, but
his conclusions have nevertheless been well founded. Could
he foresee that I should exactly notice the very circumstance
which exposed the whole artifice? Was it in his plan,
that the creature he employed should be so communicative ?
Are we certain that the Sicilian has not far exceeded his
commission ? He has undoubtedly done so with respect to
the ring, and yet it is chiefly this single circumstance which
determined my distrust in him. A plan whose contexture
is so artful and refined, is easily spoiled in the execution by
an awkward instrument. It certainly was not the Ar-
menian's intention that the juggler should speak to us in
the style of a mountebank, that he should endeavour to
impose upon us such fables as are too gross to bear the least
reflection. For instance, with what countenance could this
impostor affirm, that the miraculous being he spoke of, re-
nounces all commerce with mankind at twelve in the night ?
Did not we see him among us at that very hour ? " " That
is true. He must have forgotten it." "People of this
description naturally overact their parts ; and, by exceeding
every limit of creclibility, mar the effects which a well-
managed deception is calculated to produce." " I cannot,
however, yet prevail on myself to look upon the whole as a
mere contrivance of art. What ! the Sicilian's terror, his
convulsive fits, his sword, the deplorable situation in which
we saw him, and which was even such as to move our pity;
were all these nothing more than the mimickry of an actor ?
I allow that a skilful performer may carry imitation to a
very high pitch, but he certainly has no power over the or-
gans of life." ff As for that, my friend, I have seen the
celebrated Garrick in the character of Richard the Third.
But were we at that moment sufficiently cool to be capable of
observing dispassionately ? Could we judge of the emotions
of the Sicilian, when we were almost overcome by our own ?
Besides, the decisive crisis, even of a deception, is so mo-
mentous to the deceiver himself, that excessive anxiety may
produce in him symptoms as violent as those which sur-
prise excites in the deceived. Add to this, the unexpected
entrance of the watch." te I am glad your Highness
mentions that. Would the Armenian have ventured to

THE GHOST-SEER. 59

discover such an infamous scheme to the eye of justice, to
expose the fidelity of his creature to such a dangerous test?
And for what purpose ?" " Leave that matter to him; he
is no doubt acquainted with the people he employs. Do
we know what secret crimes may have secured him the dis-
cretion of this man ? You have been informed of the
office he holds at Venice ; what difficulty will he find in
saving a man, of whom himself is the only accuser ? "

This suggestion of the Prince was but too well justified
by the event. For, some days after, on enquiring about
the prisoner, we were told that he had escaped, and had
not since been heard of. " You ask what could be his
motives for delivering this man into the hands of justice?"
continued the Prince. " By what other method, except
this violent one, could he have wrested from the Sicilian
such an infamous and improbable confession, which, how-
ever, was material to the success of his plan ? Who but a
man whose case is desperate, and who has nothing to lose,
would consent to give so humiliating an account of himself?
Under what other circumstances than such as these could
we have believed such a confession." " I grant your
Highness all this. The two apparitions were mere con-
trivances of art : the Sicilian has imposed upon us a tale
which the Armenian his master had previously taught him :
the efforts of both have been directed to the same end; and
by this mutual intelligence all the wonderful incidents that
have astonished us in this adventure may be easily ex-
plained. But the prophecy of the square of St. Mark, that
first miracle, which as it were opened the door to all the
rest, remains still unexplained ; and of what use is the key
to all his other wonders, if we must despair of resolving this
single one?"

" Rather invert the proposition, my dear Count, and say,
what do all these wonders prove, if I can demonstrate that
a single one among them is a manifest deception ? The
prediction, I allow, is above my conception. If it had
stopped there, if the Armenian had closed the scene with
it, I confess, I do not know how far I might have been
carried. But in the base alloy with which it is mixed,

60 THE GHOST- SEER.

it is certainly suspicious." " Gracious Sir, I grant it;
but it still remains incomprehensible, and I defy all our
philosophy to explain it." " But," continued the Prince,
ec can it be really so inexplicable ? " After a few moments'
reflection — ef I am far from pretending to the title of
a philosopher, and yet I am almost tempted to account for
this miracle in a natural way, or at least to deprive it
entirely of any extraordinary appearance." " If your
Highness can do that," replied I, with a very unbelieving
smile, " you will be the only wonder in which I have any
faith." " As a proof," continued he, tf how little we
are justified in flying to supernatural powers for an ex-
planation, I will point out to you two different ways by
which we may perhaps account for this event, without
doing any violence to nature." ' ' Two ways at once ! You
do indeed raise my expectations."

(f You have read, as well as I, the last accounts of my
late cousin's illness. He died of an apoplexy It was an
attack during a fit of the ague. The extraordinariness of his
death, I confess it, induced me to ask the opinions of some
physicians upon the subject, and the knowledge which
I acquired from that circumstance gives me a clue to this
enchantment. The disorder of my deceased relative, which
was one of a most uncommon and alarming nature, had this
peculiar symptom, that during the fit of the ague it threw
the patient into a deep and irrecoverable sleep, which
naturally put an end to his existence on the return of the
apoplectic paroxysm. As these paroxysms return in the
most regular order, and at an appointed hour, the physician
is enabled, from the very moment in which he forms his
opinion on the nature of the disorder, to predict the hour
of the patient's decease. The third paroxysm of a tertian
ague will fall to a certainty on the fifth day after the ap-
pearance of the illness. Let us suppose then that our
Armenian possesses a vigilant correspondent among the
attendants of the deceased ; that he was very much in-
terested to gain information from thence; that he had
views upon my person, to the prosecution of which my
belief in the wonderful and the appearance of supernatural

THE GHOST-SEER. 6l

powers would greatly conduce — thus you have a natural
clue to this prediction, which is so inconceivable to you.
This is sufficient, for you may hence see the possibility of
a third person's informing another of a death which hap-
pened at the moment when he announced it, in a place at
forty miles' distance."

" In truth your Highness in this instance combines
things together, which, taken singly, appear very natural,
but which could only be brought together by something that
is not much better than enchantment." " What ! Do you
then fear a wonder less than an uncommon plan ? As soon
as we allow that the Armenian is engaged in a plan of
consequence, of which my destruction is either the end, or
at least conducive to it, (and may we not form that opinion
of him with which his appearance first inspired us ?) no-
thing will seem unnatural or forced, which could bring his
scheme to a conclusion in the most expeditious manner.
But what way could he devise more expeditious, than the
securing his object by putting on the appearance of a
miracle-worker ? Who can resist a man to whom the spirits
are obedient ? However, I grant you that my conjectures
are not perfectly natural; I confess that I am not evea
myself satisfied with them. I do not insist upon it, be-
cause I do not think it worth my while to call in to my
assistance a well- formed and deliberate design, when it may
at last turn out to be a mere accident." cc What ! " re-
plied I ; " may it be a mere accident ? " " Certainly,
.nothing more !" continued the Prince. " The Armenian
was aware of the danger of my cousin. He met us in the
place of St. Mark. The opportunity invited him to hazard
a prophecy, which, if it failed, would be nothing more than
a loose word — but if it succeeded, might be of the greatest
consequence. The event was favourable to this attempt —
and he might still design to make use of the gift of pro-
phecy for the connection of his plan — time will disclose
this secret, or bury it in oblivion. But believe me, friend,"
(and he laid his hand upon mine, with a very earnest
countenance,) " a man, to whose word the higher powers are
obedient, will either not want the assistance of deception,
or at least will despise it."

62 THE GHOST-SEER.

Thus ended a conversation which I have faithfully re-
lated, because it shows the difficulties which were to be
overcome before the Prince could be effectually imposed
upon. I hope it may free his memory from the imputation
of having blindly and inconsiderately thrown himself into
a snare which was spread for his destruction by the most
unexampled and diabolical iniquity. Many, at the moment
I am writing this, are, perhaps, smiling contemptuously at
the Prince's credulity ; but not all those who, in the fancied
superiority of their own understanding, think themselves
entitled to condemn him — not all those, I apprehend, would
have resisted this first attempt with so much firmness. If
afterwards, notwithstanding this happy prepossession, we
witness his downfall ; if we see that the black design against
which, at its very opening, he was thus providentially
warned, is finally successful, we shall not be so much in-
clined to ridicule his weakness, as to be astonished at the
infamous ingenuity of a plot which could seduce an under-
standing so admirably prepared. Considerations of interest
have no influence in my testimony. He, who alone would
be thankful for it, is now no more. His dreadful destiny
is accomplished. His soul has long since been purified be-
fore the throne of truth, where mine must likewise shortly
appear. Pardon the involuntary tears jwhich now flow at
the remembance of my deceased friend. But for the sake
of justice I write this history. He was a great character,
and would have adorned a throne which, seduced by the
most atrocious artifice, he attempted to ascend by the com-
mission of a murder.

Not long after these events, I began to observe an extra-
ordinary alteration in the disposition of the Prince, which
was partly the immediate consequence of the last event, and
partly produced by the concurrence of many adventitious cir-
cumstances; for hitherto the Prince had avoided every severe
trial of his faith, and contented himself with purifying the
rude and unabstracted notions of religion in which he had
been educated, by those more rational ideas upon the sub-
ject which obtruded themselves upon him, and by com-
paring the discordant opinions with each other, rather
than by enquiring into the foundations of his faith. The

THE GHOST-SEER. 6B

mystery of religion, he has many times confessed to me,
always appeared to him like an enchanted castle, into
which one does not set one's foot without horror; and that
we act a much wiser part if for that reason we pass it with
a willing resignation, without exposing ourselves to the
danger of being bewildered in its labyrinths. Nevertheless,
a contrary propensity irresistibly impelled him to those re-
searches which were connected with it. A servile and
bigoted education was the cause of this bias : this had
impressed frightful images upon his tender brain, which he
was never able perfectly to obliterate during his whole life.
Religious melancholy was an hereditary disorder in his
family. The education which he and his brothers received
was actuated by this principle ; the men to whose care they
were entrusted, selected with this view, were also either
enthusiasts or hypocrites, whose only method of securing to
themselves the approbation of his noble parents, was by
stifling all the sprightliness of the boy by a gloomy restraint
of his mental faculties.

Such was the dark and gloomy aspect which the whole of
our Prince's childhood wore. Mirth was banished even
from his amusements. All his ideas of religion were accom-
panied by some frightful image, and the representations of
terror and severity were those which first possessed them-
selves of his lively imagination, and which also the longest
retained their empire over it. His God was an object of
terror, a being whose sole occupation is the chastisement
of his creatures ; the adoration which he paid to him a
blind submission, stifling all his courage and vigour. In all
his infantine or youthful propensities, which a stout body
and blooming constitution naturally excited to break out
with greater violence, Religion stood in his way; she opposed
every thing upon which his youthful heart was bent : he
learned to consider her not as a friend, but as the scourge of
his passions; so that a silent indignation was continually
kindled against her in his heart, which, together with a re-
vering faith and a blind dread, made both in his heart and
head the strangest mixture — an abhorrence of the Lord
before whom he trembled. It is no wonder, therefore, that
he took the first opportunity of escaping from so galling a

64} THE GHOST-SEER.

yoke — but he fled from it as a bond-slave from his rigor-
ous master, who even in the midst of freedom drags along
with him a sense of his servitude ; for, as he did not re-
nounce the faith of his earlier years from a deliberate con-
viction— ashe did not wait till the maturity and improvement
of his reason had weaned him from it — ashe had escaped
from it like a fugitive, upon whose person the rights of his
master are still in force, so was he obliged, even after his
widest separation, to return to it at last. He had escaped
with his chain ; and must necessarily become the prey of
any one who should discover it, and know how to make use
of the discovery. That he considered himself in such a
light, though the reader may not yet have supposed so, the
sequel of this history will prove.

The confessions of the Sicilian left impressed upon his
mind more important conclusions than the whole of the cir-
cumstance deserved ; and the small victory which his reason
had thence gained over this weak imposture, remarkably in-
creased his reliance upon it. The facility with which he
had been able to unravel this deception, appeared to have
perfectly overwhelmed him. Truth and error were not yet
so accurately distinguished from each other in his mind, but
that he often happened to mistake the arguments which
were in favour of the one for those which were in favour
of the other. Thence it arose, that the same blow which
urged his faith to credulity, made the whole edifice of it
totter. In this instance he fell into the same error as an
unexperienced man who has been deceived in love or friend-
ship because he made a bad choice, and who drops all
credit in these sensations, because he takes mere incidental
circumstances for their actual distinguishing features. The
unmasking of a deception made even truth suspicious to him,
because he had unfortunately discovered the truth on very
weak grounds. This imaginary triumph pleased him in
proportion to the magnitude of the oppression from which
it seemed to have delivered him. From this instant there
arose in his mind a scepticism which did not spare even the
most venerable objects. Many circumstances concurred to
encourage him in this turn of mind, and still more to confirm
him in it.

THE GHOST-SEER.

65

He now quitted the retirement in which he had hitherto
lived, and was obliged to give way to a more dissipated
mode of life. His rank was discovered. Attentions which
he was obliged to return, etiquettes for which he was
indebted to his rank, drew him imperceptibly within the
vortex of the great world. His rank, as well as his per-
sonal attractions, opened to him the circles of all the beaux
esprits in Venice, and he soon found himself on terms of
intimacy with the most enlightened persons in the republic,
the men of learning as well as politicians. This obliged
him to enlarge the uniform and narrow circle to which his
understanding had hitherto been confined. He began to
perceive the poverty and debility of his ideas, and to feel
the want of more elevated impressions. The old-fashioned
dress of his understanding, spite of the many advantages
with which it was accompanied, formed an unpleasing con-
trast with the current ideas of society ; his ignorance of the
commonest things frequently exposed him to ridicule, and
nothing did he dread so much as that. The veneration
for high birth entertained in his native country, appeared to
him a challenge to overcome it in his own person. Thence
arose a peculiarity in his character ; he was offended with
every attention that he thought he owed to his rank, and
not to his natural good qualities. He felt this humiliation
principally in the company of persons who shone by their
abilities, and triumphed, as it were, over their birth by
their merit. To perceive himself distinguished as a prince
in such a society, was always a base humiliation to him,
because he unfortunately conceived that by that title he
was totally excluded from all competition. All these cir-
cumstances together convinced him of the necessity for the
formation of his mind, which he had hitherto neglected, in
order to raise it to a level with the thinking part of the
world, from which he had remained so far remote ; and for
that purpose he chose the most fashionable books, to which
he now applied himself with all the ardour with which he
was accustomed to pursue every object he pitched upon.
But the unskilful hand that directed his choice always
prompted him to select such as were ittle calculated for the
improvement either of his heart or his reason. And even,

VOL. i. B

66 THE GHOST- SEER.

in this instance, he was influenced hy that propensity which
rendered the charms of every thing incomprehensible and
irresistible. He had neither attention nor memory for any
thing that was not connected with this : his reason and his
heart remained empty, while he was filling the vacuities in
his brain with confused ideas. The dazzling style of the
one captivated his imagination, while the subtlety of the
other ensnared his reason. They were both able easily to
possess themselves of a mind which became the prey of any
one who obtruded himself upon it with a good assurance.
A course of reading, which had been continued with ardour
for more than a year, had scarcely enriched him with one
benevolent idea; but filled his head with doubts, which, as
a natural consequence with such a character, had almost
found an unfortunate road to his heart. In a word, he
had entered this labyrinth as a credulous enthusiast, had
left it as a sceptic, and was at length become a perfect free-
thinker.

Among the many circles into which they had introduced
him, there was a private society called the Bucentauro,
which, under the external show of a noble and rational
liberality of sentiment, encouraged the most unbridled
licentiousness of manners and opinions. As they enumerated
many of the clergy among their members, and could even
boast of some cardinals at their head, the Prince was the
more easily induced to be admitted into it. He thought
that certain dangerous truths, which reason discovers, could
be no where better preserved than in the hands of such
persons, whose rank confined them to moderation, and who
had had the advantage of hearing and examining the other
side of the question ; but the Prince did not recollect that
licentiousness of sentiment and manners takes so much the
stronger hold among persons of this rank, inasmuch as
they for that reason feel one curb less. This was the case
with the Bucentauro ; most of whose members, through
an execrable philosophy, and manners worthy of such a
guide, were not only a disgrace to their own rank, but even
to human nature itself. The society had its secret degrees;
and I will believe, for the credit of the Prince, that they
never thought him worthy of admission into the inmost

THE GHOST-SEER. 07

sanctuary. Every one who entered this society was obliged,
at least so long as he continued to be a member of it, to lay
aside all distinctions arising from rank, nation, or religion;
in short, every general mark or distinction whatever, and to
submit himself to the condition of universal equality. To
be elected a member was, indeed, a difficult matter, as
superiority of understanding alone paved the way to it.
The society boasted of the highest ton and the most
cultivated taste, and such indeed was its fame throughout
all Venice. This, as well as the appearance of equality
which predominated in it, attracted the Prince irresistibly.
Sensible conversations, set off by the most admirable
humour, instructive amusements, and the flower of the
learned and political world, which were all attracted to this
point as to their common centre, concealed from him for a
long time the danger of this connection. Though he had
by degrees discovered, through its mask, the spirit of the
institution, as they were tired of being any longer on their
guard before him, to recede was dangerous, and false
shame and anxiety for his safety obliged him to conceal
the displeasure which he felt. But he already began,
merely from familiarity with men of this class and their
sentiments, though they did not excite him to imitation, to
lose the pure and charming simplicity of his character, and
the delicacy of his moral feelings. His understanding, so
little supported by any real knowledge, could not, without
foreign assistance, solve the fallacious sophisms with which
he had been here ensnared ; and this fatal corroder had
consumed, all, or nearly all, on which his morality rested.
He gave away the natural and necessary supports of his
happiness for sophisms which deserted him at a critical
moment, and consequently obliged him to abide by the best
decision which should first offer itself.

Perhaps it was yet left to the hand of a friend to extri-
cate him at a proper opportunity from this abyss ; but,
besides that I did not become acquainted with the interior
of the Bucentauro till long after the evil had taken place,
an urgent circumstance called me away from Venice just
at the beginning of this period. Moreover, Lord Seymour,
a valuable acquaintance of the Prince's, whose under-

68 THE GHOST-SEER.

standing was proof against every species of deception,, and
who would infallibly have been a secure support to him,
left us at this time in order to return to his native country.
Those in whose hands I left the Prince were very worthy
men, but inexperienced, excessively narrow in their re-
ligious opinions, and as much deficient in insight into the
evil as in credit with the Prince. They had nothing to
oppose to his captious sophisms, except the maxims of a
blind and unenquiring faith, which either irritated him or
excited his ridicule. He saw through them too easily, and
his superior reason soon silenced those weak defenders of
the good cause, which will be clearly evinced from an
instance that I shall introduce in the sequel. The others,
who, subsequent to this, possessed themselves of his con-
fidence, were much more occupied in plunging him deeper
into it. When I returned to Venice in the following year,
a change had taken place in every thing.

The influence of this new philosophy soon showed itself
in the Prince's conduct. The more he openly pursued
pleasure, and formed new friendships, the more did he
desert his old ones. He pleased me less and less every
day ; we saw each other seldom, and indeed he was seldom
to be found. He had launched out into the torrent of the
great world. His threshold was never clear when he was
at home. One amusement introduced another — one ban-
quet another — and one pleasure was succeeded by a second.
He was the beauty whom every one adored — the king
and idol of every circle. As often as he reflected on the
former quietness of his retired life, amidst the bustle of
the world, so often did he find more reason for astonish-
ment. Every thing met his wishes ; — whatever he uttered
was admirable, and when he remained silent, it was com-
mitting a robbery upon the company. They understood
the art of almost banishing reflection from his soul by an
agreeable thoughtlessness, and through a delicate assistance
to overwhelm him with it. This happiness, which accom-
panied him every where, and this universal success, raised
him indeed too much in his own ideas, because it gave
him reliance upon and confidence in himself.

The high opinion which he thence acquired of his own

THE GHOST-SEER. 69

.vorth, made him credit the excessive and almost idolatrous
adoration that was paid to his understanding ; which, with-
out this augmented and somewhat just self-complacency,
must have necessarily recalled him to his senses. For the
present, however, this universal voice was only the confirm-
ation of that which his complacent vanity whispered to him
in private — a tribute which he was entitled to by right.
He would have infallibly disengaged himself from this
snare, had they allowed him to take breath — had they
granted him a moment of uninterrupted leisure for com-
paring his real merit with the picture that was exhibited
to hftn in this seducing mirror ; but his existence was a
continued state of intoxication, of a staggering dizziness.
The higher he had been elevated, the more difficulty had
he to support himself in his elevation. This incessant
exertion slowly undermined him, — rest had forsaken even
his slumbers. They had discovered his weakness, and
turned to good account the passion which they had kindled
in his breast.

His worthy attendants soon suffered for the spirit of
their lord. That anxious sensibility, those glorious truths
which his heart once embraced with the greatest enthu-
siasm, now began to be the objects of his ridicule. He
revenged himself on the great truths of religion for the
oppression which he had so long suffered from misconcep-
tion. But, since from too true a voice his heart combated
the intoxication of his head, there was more of acrimony
than of humour in his jokes. His disposition began to
alter, and caprice to make its appearance. The most
beautiful ornament of his character, his moderation, va-
nished,— parasites had poisoned his excellent heart. That
tender delicacy of address which frequently made his
attendants forget that he was their lord, was now obliged
not seldom to give place to a decisive and despotic tone,
that made the more sensible impression because it was not
founded upon the external distinction of birth, for the
want of which they could have more easily consoled them-
selves, and which he himself esteemed less ; but upon an
injurious estimation of his own individual merit : since,
when at home, he was attacked by reflections that seldom
it 3

70 THE GHOST-SEER.

made their appearance in the bustle of company ; his own
people seldom beheld him otherwise than gloomy, peevish,
and unhappy, whilst a forced vivacity made him the soul
of every circle. With the sincerest sorrow did we behold
him treading this dangerous path. In the tumult in which
he was involved, the feeble voice of friendship was no
longer heard, and he was yet too much intoxicated to
understand it.

Just at the beginning of this epoch an affair of the
greatest consequence required my presence in the court of
my sovereign, and which I dared not postpone even for the
dearest interests of friendship. An invisible hand, which
I did not discover till long after that period, had contrived
to derange my affairs there, and to spread reports which I
was obliged to hasten to contradict by my presence. My
absence from the Prince was as painful to me as it was
pleasing to him. The ties which united us had now been
severed for some time ; but his fate had awakened all my

anxiety : I on that account made the Baron de F

promise to inform me in his letters of every event, which
he has done in the most conscientious manner. As I was
now for a considerable time no longer an eye-witness of
these events, it will be allowable for me to introduce the

Baron de F in my stead, and to fill up the gap in my

narrative by the contents of his letters, though the repre-
sentation of my friend F is not always that which I

should have given. I would not, however, alter any of
his expressions, by which the reader will, -be enabled to
discover the truth with very little trouble.

Baron F to the Count O

I thank you, my beloved friend, that you have given me
permission to continue with you, even in your absence, the
conversation of friendship, which, during your stay here,
was my greatest pleasure. There is not any person here
with whom I could venture to converse, as you are well
aware, on account of private transactions j and, independent
of that, I despise the character of the people. Since the
Prince became a member of their society, and from the

THE GHOST-SEER. 71

moment that you were torn from us, I have been friend-
less in the midst of this populous city.

Z takes it in an easier manner; for, encircled by

the fair ones at Venice, he learns to forget the sorrows
which he is obliged to share with me when at home. And
why should he perplex himself ? He desires nothing from
the Prince but that which a master would bestow ; but I,
you know, place him nearer to my heart, and think I can
never be too solicitous about his welfare and happiness ;
and, indeed, I have reason for it. I have now lived with
him sixteen years, and exist only for him. At the age of
nine years I entered into his service, and since that time I
have never been separated from him. I have grown up
under his patronage, shared with him his pleasures and
misfortunes, and time has converted respect into a sincere
attachment. Until now I looked upon him as my friend
and brother ; we basked in the sunbeam of happiness, un-
interrupted by the clouds of misery.

Since you have left us, considerable alterations have

taken place. The Prince de arrived here last

week with a great retinue, and has corrupted our circle of
acquaintance with ideas of a tumultuous life. As he and
our Prince are so nearly related, and live at present upon
good terms, I suspect they will not separate from one
another during his stay here, which will last, as I have
heard, till the Ascension. His debut has already attracted
notice ; and for ten days the Prince has been in the midst

of gaiety. The style in which the Prince de

has begun his career may be justified upon the ground that
his stay here wiU not be long ; but the first part of the
business is, that he has induced our Prince to partake of
those insidious pleasures, knowing that he could not easily
deny him his request, on account of the peculiar connection
which exists between their houses ; added to this, in a few
weeks we must depart from Venice, when he will be
obliged to abandon this extraordinary and insufferable
mockery of happiness, and which, perhaps, may make a
serious impression on his mind.

The Prince de , it is reported, is here on the

bus ness of the order of . That he has taken advan-

E 4

72 THE GHOST-SEER.

tage of all the acquaintances of our Prince you may easily
imagine. He was received into the Bucentauro with great
splendour,, and pleased himself with the idea that he was
characterised as a wit, and one of great spirit ; and he has
called himself in his correspondence (which he maintains
in all parts of the world) the philosophical Prince. I
know not whether you have ever had the fortune to see
him personally. He displays a promising exterior, piercing
eyes, and a countenance full of expression. Polite, and
unaffected, he entertains (pardon me this expression) a
princely respect for the feelings of his inferiors, hut at the
same time puts great confidence in himself. Who could
refuse to pay adoration to so princely a character ? and
how such a solitary Prince as ours will appear in oppo-
sition to such dazzling accomplishments, time itself must
discover. In the arrangement of our affairs, many and
great changes have taken place. We possess a new and
magnificent house opposite the new Procuracy, because the
lodgings at the Moor Hotel were too small for the Prince.
Our household has been augmented by twelve persons.
Pages, moors, body-guards, &c. grace our retinue. You
complained during your stay here of extravagance ; you
should be here now to witness the present system. Our
internal arrangements are still the same ; only that the
Prince, who no longer respects the advice of those he once
loved, is become more reserved and cold towards us, and
that we very seldom see him or are in his company, except
in the hours employed in dressing and undressing him.
Under the pretext that we speak the French language very
badly, and the Italian not at all, he excludes us from his
presence, which would not affect me in any great degree,
but that I believe, to speak the truth, he is ashamed of us ;
and that circumstance displeases me, because I am con-
fident we have not deserved such treatment.

Of all our people (as you wish to know the minutiae)
he seems most attached to Biondello, whom he took into
his service, as you must remember, when he could not
discover the retreat of his former servant from Bremen,
and who has become, by this new manner of life, quite a
necessary being. This man knows hoAv every thing is
going on at Venice^ and he employs his time to some pur-

I

THE GHOST-SEER. 73

pose. He is as if he had a thousand eyes and a thousand
hands to set in motion at once. He contrives all plans,
and gains the greater part of his knowledge, as he says, by
the help of the gondoliers ; for that reason, he has become
a great acquision to the Prince. He makes him acquainted
with every new face whom the Prince has met in his
societies ; and the secret information which he gives his
Highness has always been found correct. Beside this, he
reads and writes the Italian and French in an excellent
style, by which means he has already become the Prince's
secretary. I must relate to you a trait of fidelity in him,
which is indeed very rare to be found in men of his station.
Not long ago a merchant of great consequence from
Rimini begged to be admitted to the Prince. The matter
concerned a particular complaint against Biondello. The
Procurator, his former master, who must have been an
odd fellow, had for some time lived upon bad terms with
his relations. Biondello possessed his confidence, and to
him he intrusted all his secrets. As he was upon his death-
bed, he made him swear never to disclose them to any
one, that his relations might not be benefited by them, and
gave him, as a reward, a great legacy.

When the will was opened, and his papers inspected,
there were found considerable numbers of blanks, to which
Biondello alone could furnish the key. He denied that he
knew any thing of the matter, gave up to the relations his
legacy, and persevered in his fidelity to the injunctions of
his deceased master. Great offers were made to him by the
relations, but all to no purpose ; at last he eluded their
threats of forcing him to confession, by entering into the
service of the Prince. This merchant, who was the heir
at law, addressed himself to the Prince, and made still
greater offers to Biondello if he would discover the secret
— but it was ah" in vain. The Prince interfered, but he
remained firm. He confessed, however, to his Highness,
that secrets of great importance were confided to him, and
he did not deny that the deceased might have acted with
too much severity towards his relations ; but he added,
" he was my good master and benefactor, and with the
firmest confidence in my sincerity he died. I was the only
friend he left in the world — as such I will never betray

74- THE GHOST-SEER.

my trust, nor act in contradiction to his dying request."
In the mean time he gave a hint, that a discovery would
•not add to the honour of his deceased master. Was not
such conduct worthy to be imitated? You may easily imagine
that the Prince did not insist upon his violating his vow of
fidelity. This extraordinary attachment which he showed
for the deceased gained him the most unlimited confidence
of his royal master.

Happiness attend you, my dear friend. I look back
upon our former manner of life with secret pleasure, to
which you have contributed in a high degree. I fear we
shall never more enjoy those tranquil hours at Venice
which we were wont formerly to do, and am much mistaken
if the Prince is not of the same way of thinking. The
element in which he lives at present is not that in which
he can be happy in future, or an experience of sixteen years
deceives me. Farewell !

The same to the same.

May 18.

I had no idea that our stay at Venice would prove so
satisfactory as it has done. He has saved the life of a man
— I am reconciled to him. The Prince not long ago
suffered himself to be carried home in a chair from the
Bicentauro ; and two footmen, with Biondello, conducted
him. I know not how it happened, but the chair, which
had been hired in haste, broke, and the Prince was obliged
to walk on foot the remainder of the way. Biondello went
before. The way lay through several dark streets ; and as
it was not far from day- break, some of the lamps burnt but
faintly, while the others were totally extinguished. They
had been walking a quarter of an hour, when Biondello
discovered that he had taken the wrong road. The simi-
larity of the bridges had deceived him, and instead of
crossing that of St. Mark, they found themselves in Sestiere
di Castello. It was in one of the by streets, and not a
soul stirring near the spot. They were obliged to turn
back to gain, as the best way, one of the principal streets.
They had walked but a few steps, when in an adjoining
street they distinctly heard the cry of " Murder ! " The
Prince, unarmed as he was, snatched from one of the ser-

THE GHOST-SEER. >

vants a stick ; and with his usual courage, which you have
often witnessed, ran towards the place whence the voice
issued. Three ruffianlike fellows were just on the point of
vanquishing a person, who, with his servant, was defending
himself, apparently overcome by fatigue, when the Prince
appeared, and prevented the villains from murdering him.
His voice, and those of his servants, startled the murderers,
who did not expect in such a dismal place to meet with any
interruption.

They immediately left their man, after several slight
stabs writh their daggers, and took flight. Fainting with
loss of blood, the wounded man sunk into the arms of the
Prince : his conductors then told him, that he had saved
the life of the Marquis of Civitella, the nephew of the

Cardinal A i. As the Marquis's wounds bled very

much, Biondello performed as well as he was able the office
of surgeon, and the Prince immediately saw him taken to
the palace of his uncle, which was not far distant from the
spot. This done, he left the house, without discovering
his rank. But through the means of a footman, who was
acquainted with Biondello, he was betrayed. The follow-
ing morning the Cardinal appeared, an old acquaintance
from the Bucentauro. The visit lasted an hour ; the Car-
dinal was in great emotion, and when they separated tears
stood in his eyes ; the Prince also appeared extremely con-
cerned. The same evening his Highness paid a visit to
the wounded man, whom the surgeon affirmed would soon
recover. The cloak in which he was wrapped up had in
some measure shielded him from the force with which the
stabs were given. Since that accident, not a day has
passed over without the Prince paying a visit to the Car-
dinal, or receiving one from him ; and a great friendship
begins to exist between him and that family.

The Cardinal is a venerable man of sixty, with a majestic
appearance, but full of gaiety and good health. They think
him one of the richest prelates in the whole republic. Of his
enormous fortune he himself is the treasurer; and, although
a prudent economist, he does not despise the pleasures of the
world. This nephew, who is his only heir, does not always
possess the good opinion of his uncle. Although the old

76

THE GHOST-SEER.

man is not an enemy to youthful pleasures, the conduct of
the nephew appears to exhaust every principle of tolerance
in his relation. His dissipated principles, and his licentious
mariner of living, supported by every vice that is coun-
tenanced by the grossest sensuality, make him the terror of
all fathers, and the curse of domestic happiness. This last
attack, it is said, was owing to an intrigue which he had

concerted with the wife of the ambassador : not to

mention other troubles, from which only the power and
money of the Cardinal could extricate him. But for this
the Cardinal might be the most enviable man in all Italy,
because he possesses every thing that can make life worth
preserving. But his nephew's enormities render the gifts of
fortune superfluous ; and the continual fear of not being
able to find an heir worthy of his property, diminishes the
comfort that his Eminence would otherwise enjoy in such
a state of affluence.

I have this information from Biondello. In this man the
Prince has acquired a treasure. Every day he makes him-
self more worthy of estimation, and we almost hourly dis-
cover in him some new talent. Not long ago the Prince,
being over-fatigued, could not sleep. The night-lamp was
extinguished, and no bell could waken the valet de chambre,
who it was soon found had gone out of the house to visit
an opera girl. The Prince had the resolution to get
up himself, to call one of his people. He had not gone
far, when he heard at a little distance from him enchanting
music. He followed the sound, and found Biondello playing
upon the flute in his room, with his fellow-servants round
him. He commanded him to proceed. With admirable
skill Biondello repeated the same air, with the most delightful
variations and niceties of a virtuoso. The Prince, who is a
connoisseur in music, declared, that he might play with
great confidence in the best concert.

fe I must dismiss this man," said he to me the following
morning ; " I am unable to recompense him according to
his merits." Biondello, who heard these words, came to*
wards him. ' ' Gracious sir, if you do that, you deprive me
of my best reward." " You are worthy of something bet-
ter than being a servant," said my master. " I will not

THE GHOST-SEER. 77

any longer be a bar to the improvement of your fortune."
" Do not press upon me any other fortune., gracious sir,
than that which I have chosen myself." " And to neglect
such a talent — No ! I must not consent." " Then permit
me,, your Highness, to exercise it every now and then in your
presence." J > -'f .4

To this proposition the Prince immediately consented,
and Biondello obtained an apartment adjoining the sleeping-
room of his master, where he lulled him to repose by soft
and delicate airs, and awoke him in the morning with the
same melody. The Prince insisted upon increasing his
salary, which he did not accept without requesting his
Highness to permit him to let it lie in his hands, as a
capital which perhaps at some future period might be of
service to him. The Prince expected that he would soon
apply for his money, or some other favour ; and whatever
it might have been the Prince would not have denied it.
Farewell, my best of friends. I expect with impatience
news from R n.

The same to the same.

June 4.

The Marquis Civitella, who is now entirely recovered
from his wounds, was introduced last week by the Cardinal
his uncle to the Prince, and since that day he has followed
him like his shadow. Biondello, I suspect, has not told me
the truth concerning the character of the Marquis, at least
he has gone too far in his description. He is to all appear-
ance a most amiable man, and irresistible in company. It
is not possible to be angry with him ; the first sight of him
has conquered all my prejudices. Figure to your mind a
man of the most enchanting person, a face full of un-
common expression, an insinuating tone of voice, pos-
sessed of the most fluent eloquence, united with all the
advantages of the best education. He has none of that low
despicable pride which in general so much disgraces the
nobility here. Every action teems with the energy of
youth, benevolence, and warm sensibility. They must, in
relating his extravagances, have gone far beyond the truth ;
I never saw a more perfect contrast than his conduct is to

78 THE GHOST-SEER.

that which is represented of him. If he be really so licen-
tious as Biondello asserted, then he is a siren, whom no
creature is able to resist.

Towards me he acted with unreserved confidence. He
confessed to me with the most agreeable frankness,, that he
did not stand in high favour with his uncle the Cardinal,
and perhaps he might have deserved his censure. But he
was seriously resolved to amend his life ; and he declared
that the merit of his reformation would entirely fall to the
Prince : in the mean time he hoped, through his interfer-
ence, to be entirely reconciled with his uncle, because he had
the highest confidence in the Prince's character. He had
wanted till now a friend and instructor, and he hoped to
acquire both in the person of the Prince, who, indeed, ex-
ercises all the authority of a tutor over him, and guides
him with the paternal watchfulness and solicitude of a
Mentor. This confidence also gives him certain advantages,
and he knows perfectly well how to make them valuable.
He seldom quits the presence of the Prince ; he partakes of
all his pleasures, and has lately become one of the Bucen-
tauro ; and that is lucky for him, — he was before too
young. Wherever he goes with the Prince, he charms the
society by his accomplishments, which he is well skilled in
turning to the greatest advantage. Nobody, they say, ever
could succeed in reclaiming him ; and should the Prince
accomplish this Herculean labour, he will deserve the high-
est encomiums for his conduct. But I fear very much the
tide will turn, and Mentor become the pupil of his scholar ;
to this end all the present circumstances seem to lead.

The Prince d has departed, to the greatest

satisfaction of all here, my master not excepted. What

I thought, dear O , is thus happily accomplished. Two

such opposite characters could not long, I was confident,
maintain a good understanding with each other. The Prince

d was not long at Venice before I observed a

schism in their friendship; from which circumstance the Prince
was in danger of losing all his former admirers. Wherever
he went, he found this rival in his way, who possessed the
artful quality of turning every advantage in which our
Prince was deficient to good account. He had a variety of

THE GHOST-SEER. 79

little manoeuvres at his command, which our master, from
a noble sensibility,, disdained. From such circumstances,
in a short time, he procured a number of friends of his
own description to follow his advice and participate in his
schemes. * It would have been better for the Prince if he
had not considered him as an enemy ; but had looked for-
ward to the time when this would have been the case. But
now he has advanced too far into the stream, to reach the
shore without difficulty. Although these trifles, by habit,
have acquired an ascendency over him, and probably he may
despise them in his heart,, yet his pride will not permit
him to renounce them, naturally supposing that his submis-
sion will appear like conviction, rather than a free disposi-
tion to confess his abhorrence of them. The satirical man-
ner in which they always conversed, and the spirit of
rivalship that influenced his opponent, have also seized upon
him. To preserve his conquests, and to maintain him-
self upon the dangerous principles to which the opinion of
the world had rivetted him, he is resolved to augment the
allurements of fashion and gaiety, and this cannot be ac-
quired but by splendour equal to his rank ; on that account
he has been involved in perpetual banquets, concerts, and
gaming. A long chain of poverty is the unavoidable con-
sequence of this unhappy connection.

We have got rid at last of the rival ; but what he has
subverted cannot so easily be restored. The treasure of
the Prince is exhausted ; all that he had saved by a strict
economy is gone ; we must hasten from Venice,, or else
be involved in debt, which, till now, he has carefully avoided.
Our departure is certainly to take place as soon as fresh
remittances arrive. The many unnecessary expenses he
has incurred would be of little consequence if his happiness
increased in proportion ; but he was never less happy than
at present ! He feels that he is not now what he formerly
was — he is dissatisfied with himself, and rushes into new
dissipation, to avoid the piercing consequences of reflec-

* In the unfavourable opinion which the Baron F forms of our Prince

in several parts of the first letter, every one who has the happiness to know
him intimately, will think with me, that he went beyond the limits of his judg-
ment, and will ascribe it to the prejudice of this young observer.

NOTE OF THE COUNT O .

80 THE GHOST-SEEB.

tion. One new acquaintance follows another, which is
fatal to his reformation. I know not what may happen ;
we must depart, — we have no other safety. — But, dear
friend, as yet I have not received a single line from you ;
how must I interpret this long silence ?

The same to the same.

June 12th.

Receive my thanks, dear friend, for that token of your

remembrance which young B hi brought over to me.

But what do you say about letters which I was to have
received ? I have not received any letters from you till
now, — not even a line. What a circuit must those which

I now receive have taken ! For the future, dear O ,

when you honour me with your letters, send them by
Trent, and under cover to my master.

We have at length been obliged, my dear friend, to take
that step which we had hitherto so fortunately avoided. The
remittances were kept back, even at this pressing emergency
— for the first time were they kept back ; we were abso-
lutely compelled to have recourse to a usurer, and the
Prince willingly pays something more for the sake of
secrecy. The worst of these unpleasant circumstances is,
that it delays our departure. Such was the state of our
affairs when the Prince and I came to an explanation.
The whole of the business had passed through Biondello's
hands, and the Jew was present before I had the least sus-
picion of it. I was grieved to the heart to see the Prince
reduced to such an extremity, and it revived in me all the
recollection of the past, and all my fears for the future ; so
that I certainly might have looked a little melancholy and
gloomy when the usurer left the room. The Prince, to
whom the preceding scene had doubtless been by no means
pleasing, walked backwards and forwards with uneasiness.
The rouleaus of gold were yet lying on the table — I was
standing at the window, and employing myself in counting
the windows in the Procuratie — there was a long silence.
At length he addressed himself to me —

" F ," he began, " I cannot bear any dismal faces

about me." I was silent. " Why do you not answer

THE GHOST-SEER. 81

me ? Do I not see that it will break your heart not to
pour forth your vexation ? I command you to speak. You
may, perhaps, wonder what extraordinary affairs I am
concealing from you." " If I am gloomy, gracious Sir,"
replied I, " it is only because I do not see you in better
spirits." " I know," continued he, " that you think I
have acted wrongly for some time past — that every step

which I have taken has displeased you — that What

does the Count d'O say in his letters ? " " The

Count d'O has not written to me." " Not written !

Why will you not confess the truth ? You lay open your
hearts to each other — you and the Count. I know it very
well : however, you need not conceal it from me. I shall
not introduce myself into your secrets." " The Count

d'O ," replied I, <e has only answered the first of

three letters which I wrote to him." u I was wrong,"
continued he; <c is it not so?" (taking up one of the
rouleaus) ce I should not have acted thus." f< I see very
plainly that the step was necessary." " I ought not to
have involved myself in such a necessity."

I remained silent. <f Indeed, I ought not to have ven-
tured beyond that point in the completion of my wishes,
so as to have become a grey-beard as soon as I became a
man. Because I once step forth from the dreary uniform-
ity of my former life, and look around me to see whether
there will spring up no source of enjoyment for me in

any other quarter ; because I " <e If it were only a

trial, gracious Sir, I have nothing more to say ; for the
experience which it has procured for you would not be
purchased at too dear a rate, though it cost three times as
much. It hurts me, I must confess, that the opinion of
the world should have to decide upon the question, How
you can be happy?" ce Fortunate man, who can thus
despise the opinion of the world ! I am its creature, and
must be its slave. What else are we governed by but
opinion ? Opinion is every thing with us princes. Opinion
is our nurse and educatress in infancy, our legislatress and
mistress in our manly years, and our crutch in old age.
Take from us what we receive from opinion, and the
meanest of the humblest class is better off than we are ;

VOL. i. p

82 THE GHOST- SEER.

for his fate has taught him a philosophy which enables
him to bear it. A prince who laughs at opinion, is his
own destroyer, like the priest who denies the existence of
a God."

" And yet, gracious Prince — " " I know what you are
going to say. I can pass the boundary of the circle which
my birth has drawn around me. But can I eradicate from
my memory all the foolish ideas which education and early
habit have planted in it, and which a hundred thousand of
you fools have ever been impressing with more and more
firmness? Every one wishes to be what he is to per-
fe6tion, and our existence consists, in short, in appearing
happy. If we cannot be so according to your mode, shall
we not for that reason be so at all ? If we can no longer
taste of joy immediately from its uncorrupted source, shall
we not deceive ourselves with an artificial enjoyment ? shall
we not snatch a small compensation even from the very
hand which robs us ? " ' ( You once found these joys in
your own heart." " But if I do not any longer find them
there ! — Oh, how came we to fall upon this subject ?
Why must you awake in me the recollection of that, even
if I have had recourse to this tumult of voluptuousness, in
order to stifle a voice which renders my life miserable —
in order to lull to rest this inquisitive reason, which moves
to and fro in my brain like a sharp sickle, and with every
new stroke cuts off a new branch of my happiness ? "
"Best of princes!" He got up, and walked backwards
and forwards in the room with unusual agitation, and soon
after left it.

Pardon, dear O — , this tedious letter. You wish to

know every trifle which concerns the Prince, and I may
justly rank his moral philosophy among them. I know
that the state of his mind is important to you, and his
actions, I am aware, are on that account also important
to you. I have for that reason faithfully transcribed all
that I recollected of this conversation. I shall at a future
period inform you of a new occurrence, which you could
hardly have been led to expect from a dialogue like that of
to-day. Farewell.

THE GHOST-SEER. 83

The same to the same.

July I.

As the time for our departure from Venice approaches, we
are determined to employ this week in an examination of
all the remarkable pictures and buildings,, which is ge-
nerally delayed to the last moment. They praised highly
the work* of Paul Veronese, which was to be seen in a
Benedictine convent upon the island of St. George. You
must not expect from me a minute description of this
beautiful masterpiece, from the contemplation of which
I derived the most satisfactory pleasure; but it was a sight
worthy to be enjoyed longer. We should have had as
many hours as minutes to study a painting of a hundred
and twenty figures, which is thirty feet in breadth. It is
impossible to observe the beauties which the artist has dis-
played in it, by just glancing at the whole. It is however
a pity that so valuable a work, which ought to adorn a
place of more utility, should be buried within the walls of
a convent for a few monks to gaze at. The church of
this convent deserves also the attention of the connoisseur:
it is one of the handsomest in the city.

Towards evening we set off for the Giudecca, to spend
a few hours in the charming gardens that surround it.
The society, which was not numerous, separated very
soon ; and Civitella, who had been the whole day seeking
for an opportunity to speak to me in private, thus ad-
dressed me — <c You are the friend of the Prince, and
possess his confidence, as I know from good authority.
When I went to-day to his hotel, I met a man upon the
stairs, and immediately guessed the business he had been
upon. I found the Prince, as I entered his apartments,
thoughtful and dejected." I was about to interrupt him.
t{ You cannot deny it," he continued, " I know the man,
for I took very particular notice of his person. Is it pos-
sible that the Prince, who has friends at Venice, to whom
he is as dear as life, should in a case of necessity make use
of such a wretch ? Be sincere, baron ! — Is the Prince
embarrassed in his circumstances? You may endeavour

* The marriage at Cana.
F 2

84 THE GHOST-SEER.

to hide the truth, but it is in vain. What I cannot learn
from you I will obtain from a man to whom every secret
is a prize, and ready to be sold." ' ' What, Marquis ! "
c( Pardon me. I must endure the charge of being in-
discreet, to avoid the imputation of ingratitude. The
Prince saved my life, and, what goes far beyond that, he
has instilled into my mind the principles of virtue. If I
see the Prince act in a manner which must be expensive
to him, and beneath his dignity ; if it is in my power to
assist him, I never can resist it." " The Prince is not
now in any embarrassment. Several remittances, which we
expected from Trent, are, indeed, unexpectedly detained ;
but accidentally perhaps, or from the idea that his de-
parture is near at hand. This is now fixed upon ; and
till then — " He shook his head. <e Do not deceive me,"
said he. " I mean not by doing this to diminish the obli-
gation I owe the Prince. No, not all the riches of my
uncle eould repay him. I am anxious to free him from
one unhappy moment. My uncle possesses a large fortune,
which I can dispose of as if it were my own. I cor.
sider it a fortunate circumstance that the moment is arrived
when I can be useful to the Prince. I know," he con-
tinued, " with what delicacy the Prince will treat my
offer; — but, on the other hand, I hope he will lay aside
his prejudices, and suffer me to enjoy the satisfaction of
having in some measure returned the obligation I owe to
him." He continued to urge his request till I had pro-
mised him that I would do all in my power to make the
Prince accept his offer. But I knew his character, and
for that reason I despaired of success. He appeared satis-
fied however with my promise, though he confessed that it
would give him great uneasiness if the Prince considered
him in the light of a stranger. Lost in conversation, we
had wandered from the company, and were just about to

return, when Z approached us. " I thought the

Prince had been with you ?" said he: " is he not here?"
We immediately returned with him, thinking to find the
Prince with the other part of the company. fc The so-
ciety is together, but the Prince is not among them," said
I ; ( ' I really do not know how it happened that we missed

THE GHOST-SEER. 85

him." Here Civitella suggested that he might possibly
have visited the adjoining church, which he had a little
time before remarked for its beauty. We immediately
went to seek for him there. As we approached it we dis-
covered Biondello waiting at the entrance. When we
came nearer, we observed the Prince rush hastily out from
a small door ; the agitation of his mind was impressed
upon his countenance. He called Biondello to him, and
seemed to instruct him in the execution of some commission
of consequence ; his eyes were constantly directed to the
gate, which remained open. Biondello hastened into the
church. The Prince, without perceiving us, pushed through
the crowd, and went back to the society.

It was resolved to sup in an open pavilion, and the
Marquis, without our knowledge, had procured some mu-
sicians to entertain us with a concert. It was quite select;
but there was among the performers a young lady who sung
delightfully, and whose voice did not more enchant us than
the beauty of her person. Nothing seemed to make an im-
pression upon the Prince ; he spoke little, and answered
our questions confusedly; his eyes were constantly riveted
upon the spot from whence Biondello was to come ; and it
was visible to all, that something of consequence affected
his mind. Civitella asked him how he liked the church ;
he could not give any description of it. He spoke of
several remarkable pictures, which were highly esteemed ;
but he had not observed them. We perceived that our
questions were unpleasant to him, and therefore we dis-
continued our enquiries. One hour after another passed
away, and Biondello did not arrive. The impatience of
the Prince could no longer be concealed : he went from
supper very early, and walked alone up and down the aisles
of the church with agitated steps. No person could imagine
what had happened to him. I did not venture to ask him
the reason for such a sudden change in his disposition, as I
could not now treat him with that familiarity I did formerly.
With so much more impatience, therefore, did I expect
the arrival of Biondello, that he might explain to me the
mystery.

It was past ten o'clock before he came back. The ac-
F 3

86

THE GHOST-SEER.

counts which he brought to the Prince did not contribute to
dissipate the gloom of melancholy. He returned to the
pavilion apparently uneasy and dissatisfied. Soon after, the
boat was ordered, and we went home. I could not find a
single opportunity the whole evening to speak with Bion-
dello ; and I was at last obliged to go to bed without being
able to satisfy my curiosity. The Prince dismissed us very
early; but a thousand unpleasant reflections which tor-
mented me kept me awake. I could distinctly hear the
Prince walking up and down his chamber till a late hour ;
at last I dropped into a dose, but was soon roused from
slumber by a person who appeared at my bedside with a
lamp in his hand. When I looked up, I discovered it to
be the Prince. He could not close his eyes, he said, and
begged of me to pass the night with him. I would have
risen and dressed myself; but he commanded me to remain
as I was, and seated himself on my bed.

cc An extraordinary circumstance has happened to me to-
day," said he, "and the impression it has made upon my
mind will never be effaced. I went, as you must recollect,
to see * * * church, to which Civitella directed my at-
tention, and which had at a distance excited my curiosity.
As neither you nor he were present, I went in alone, and
bade Biondello wait for me at the entrance. The church was
quite dark and solitary. The aisles were cold and damp.
I felt a sudden dullness steal all over me ; I saw myself
alone amidst the dead, in a sanctuary where a solemn
silence, as in the grave, reigned in every part. I placed
myself in the middle of the dome, and gave my soul up to
contemplation. Soon, however, the gothic beauty of the
building arrested my attention. It appeared, as I examined
it, more and more delightful. It called forth the powers of
awful meditation. The evening bell was tolling ; its hollow
sound, as I heard it faintly in the aisle, overpowered me
with an unusual melancholy. Some altar-pieces at a dis-
tance attracted my attention. I went nearer, to view them
distinctly : unperceived, I had wandered through the aisles
of the church, and was approaching the end, when, by ac-
cident, I went round a pillar up a flight of steps, which
lead into a side chapel, decorated with several little altars

THE GHOST-SEER. 87

and statues of saints. As soon as I entered the chapel I
heard a soft whispering, turned towards the spot from
whence I heard the voice, and about two steps from me dis-
covered a female figure. Fright almost overpowered me ;
but after a few moments had elapsed I recovered, and con-
templated an object which I cannot describe with justice."

" And does your Highness know for certain that it was
alive — that it was not fancy — a picture of the brain?"
" Hear farther — it was a lady. Until that moment I had
never regarded the sex ! The rays of the setting sun, that
illumined the chapel, enabled me to observe that she was in
the act of praying before an altar. Nature seemed to have
lavished all her perfections on her lovely form. She was
elegantly dressed in black silk, which spread around her in
large folds like a Spanish robe ; her long light-coloured hair
burst from under the veil, and flowed in charming disorder
down her back ; one of her hands touched the crucifix, as
she rested her head upon the other. But how shall I find
words to describe to you the angelic beauty of her coun-
tenance ! The sunbeams played upon it, and heightened
the divine expression that seemed to glow in it. Can you
call back to your mind the Madonna of Florence ? She was
the exact copy of the artless enchanting beauty which is so
irresistibly expressed in that picture."

Of the Madonna of which the Prince speaks, the case is
this : — Shortly after your departure, the Prince became
acquainted with a painter from Florence, who had been
ordered to Venice to paint an altar-piece for a church ; his
name I do not now remember. He brought with him three
pictures, which he had executed for the gallery in the Ca-
narian Palace. The subjects were a Madonna, a Heloise,
and a Venus in dishabille. From the exquisite manner in
which they were all painted, it was almost impossible to de-
cide which was superior in beauty. The Prince alone did
not hesitate a moment to decide ; they were scarcely put
before him when the Madonna attracted his whole attention ;
in both the others the genius of the painter was admired,
but this he surveyed with enthusiasm. He was so en-
amoured with it, that he could not be persuaded to quit it.
The artist, we could perceive by his countenance, enjoyed
r 4

88 THE GHOST- SEER.

the judgment of the Prince ; he had the wit not to separate
the three pictures, and demanded 1500 zequins for them.
The Prince offered him half the price for the Madonna.
The artist insisted upon his demand; and who knows what
might have happened if he had not found a purchaser for
his works ? Two hours after, all the three pieces were
gone ; and we have not seen them since. This was the
picture that the Prince brought to his memory.

" I stood/' he continued, <( in silent admiration. She
did not ohserve me j she was not disturbed by my arrival ;
so entirely was she lost in adoration. She prayed to her God,
and I prayed to her eyes ; saints, altars, or burning tapers,
had never before reminded me that I was in a sanctuary ;
I was seized with enthusiasm. Shall I confess to you,
that I believed, from that very moment, in the influence of
the crucifix she held in her beautiful hand. I read our
Saviour's answer in her eyes. Thanks to her charming
piety ! she painted his true character to me. My ideas
wandered with her's through the ways of heaven. She
rose, and I stepped aside with embarrassment ; the noise
I made discovered me. The unexpected appearance of a
man alarmed her ; I was fearful that my boldness might
offend ; for as she glanced at me, the beauteous rays
of innocence and virtue played upon her countenance. As
she rose from prayer, I was the first happy creature which
offered itself to her sight. In an adjoining corner of the
chapel, I saw an elderly lady rise from her seat, and come
towards us. I had not till then perceived her. She was
but a few steps distant from me, and no doubt had wit-
nessed all my actions. I was somewhat confused — I cast
my eyes as it were involuntarily on the ground, and they
rushed by me. I looked after her as she passed along the
aisle. The beautiful figure was with her — What grace,
what majesty appeared in all her steps ! She was no
longer the being that I first beheld ; no, she was possessed
of a thousand new charms. I followed at a distance with
trembling steps, undetermined whether I should overtake
her or not. I waited with impatience to see if she would
bestow upon me another look ; — for the one she gave me
as she passed by was lost upon me. With what extreme
anxiety did I expect it !

THE GHOST-SEER. 8Q

(< They stopped suddenly ; but I was not able to set a
foot forwards. The elderly lady, who perhaps might be
her mother, observed the disorder of her hair, and imme-
diately adjusted it. That done, they approached the gate.
I doubled my steps — she disappeared by degrees — I
could only see the shadow of her robe as it floated in the
air. A flower had fallen from her bosom ; she returned in
haste to fetch it — she once more looked back, and — after
me ! — whom else could she seek in a place so solitary ?
She appeared as if I was no longer a stranger to her ; —
but she deserted me like the flower which seemed unworthy

to be replaced in her bosom. Dear F I am almost

ashamed to own to you with what childish rapture I inter-
preted that look — that last expressive look, which was not
perhaps designed for me ! "

fe You may rely upon it, it was."

" It is singular/' said the Prince, after a long silence,
(( that we should lament the loss of an object we never
saw before — but I feel as if I exist only for her. That
in a single moment man should display two such opposite
characters ? I look back upon the happiness I received
yesterday morning with all that exquisite feeling with
which we trace the days of childhood. This picture lives
in my remembrance, and forces me to acknowledge that it
is my god ! " " Recollect, gracious Sir," said I, " in
what gloomy though tfulness your mind was wrapt when
this ideal divinity appeared to you ; the association of
ideas alone inflamed your imagination. Quitting the
beautifuriight of day, and the tumult of the world, you
were suddenly surrounded by darkness and silence, im-
pressed with sensations which, as you confessed yourself,
tended to impress you with melancholy, whilst the majesty
of the structure, and the contemplation of beauty in the
works of different artists, aided the train of ideas you were
supporting. In the mean time, alone and solitary, you
gave yourself up to reflection ; in the midst of your medi-
tations you observe the figure of a female, where you did
not expect to meet a soul — still more enchanting by a
fine form, which was heightened by a favourable illumi-
nation of the setting sun — a fortunate situation, and a

90 THE GHOST-SEER.

captivating display of piety — what is. more likely than
that your disturbed fancy deceived you ? "

" Can memory give back impressions it has never re-
ceived ? In my whole country there is nothing that I
could justly put in comparison with that picture. Entire
and unchanged, as in the moment of beholding it, it lies
in my memory ; I can think of nothing but that picture
— and in vain might you offer me a whole world for it ! "
(f Gracious Prince, this is love." " Must it then be by a
name that I am to be made happy ? Love ! — Do not
think so meanly of my feelings as to accuse me of that
which influences a thousand feeble souls ! Who has ever
felt what I endure ! Such a being as I am never was in
existence before ! How then can you give my sensations
a name ? It is a new and singular suffering, originating
with her that I adore. — Love ! No, from love I am
quite secure ! " " You sent Biondello, no doubt, to find
out the path your fair unknown pursued, and to get some
information of her — What accounts did he bring you
back?"

" Biondello has discovered nothing. He found her at
the church gate. An old well-dressed man (who had the
appearance of a citizen from this city, and not a servant)
conducted her to the boat. Some poor peasants smiled
upon her as she passed them, and she rewarded them with
money. By this means one of her hands became visible;
it was ornamented with several precious stones. She said
something to her companion, which Biondello did not under-
stand ; he maintained it to be Greek. She had to walk a
considerable distance to the canal. The people began to
collect round her ; so extraordinary a sight surprised all
the peasants. Nobody knew her — but beauty is born a
queen. All made way for her in an humble submissive
manner. She let fall a black veil over her face, and hast-
ened into the boat. To the extent of the channel of the
Giudecca, Biondello kept the boat in sight, but' could not
pursue its course farther, owing to the concourse of people."
" Has he not taken notice of the waterman ? " " He en-
deavoured in vain to find him ; for it was not one of them
with whom he is connected. The poor people of whom

THE GHOST-SEER. 91

he enquired could give him no other account, than that the
lady for several weeks past had landed on the same spot on
a Sunday evening, when she distributed some gold pieces
amongst them. They were Dutch ducats, which I dis-
covered by one that Biondello had procured."

" A Greek lady of fortune and rank, as it should seem
by your description. That is quite sufficient, gracious Sir,
to aid us in a discovery. But a Greek lady and in a
catholic church ! " ' ' Why not ? She may have changed her
religion. But I admit there is something in all this that we
do not understand. Why does she come only once a week ?
Why only on a Sunday evening, at an hour when the
church is entirely deserted, as Biondello told me ? — Next
Sunday evening must decide this. But till then, my dear
friend, assist me in the difficult task of passing away the
time ! Days and hours will elapse in their ordinary course,
but are of too long duration for a mind like mine." (< And
when that day arrives — what is to be done ? " " What
is to be done ? I shall see her again. I shall discover
who she is, and the place of her residence. Why should I
be unhappy, when I know how to alleviate my sufferings ?"
ei But our departure from Venice, which is fixed for the
beginning of next month ? " " Could I imagine that
Venice contained such a treasure ! I will not think of my
past life, but date my existence from this hour."

I thought this a favourable opportunity of keeping my
word with the Marquis. I gave the Prince to understand,
that for him to continue at Venice in the present state of
our finances would by no means be proper ; and that, if
he prolonged his stay beyond the term, he could not expect
that his court would support him. I now discovered a
secret which till then had been unknown to me, that he
received succours clandestinely from his sister, the reigning

Princess of , which she is very willing to increase if

his court should abandon him. This sister is a pious
fanatic, you know, and thinks the great savings which she
makes at a very economical court cannot be disposed of
better than to a brother whose character she enthusiastically
venerates. I was confident, some time back, that there
existed a good understanding between them, and that many

92 THE GHOST-SEER.

letters had been exchanged ; but as the Prince's own re-
sources were sufficient to defray his expenses, I never once
thought of this secret channel. It was now clear that the
Prince had expenses which were unknown to me : these
still remain a secret ; and if I may conclude from what I
know of his character, they are not of that nature which
will disgrace him. I was certain now that I had found
him out. I did not therefore hesitate to make known to
him immediately the offer of the Marquis, which, to my
great astonishment, was accepted without any difficulty.
He gave me free liberty to conduct the business with the
Marquis in such a manner as I thought, best, and then
ordered me to dismiss the usurer, and write immediately
to his sister.

It was daybreak when we separated. This event has
made me very uneasy for more reasons than one, par-
ticularly that it compels us to prolong our stay at Venice.
This sudden passion for the unknown lady I expect will
rather be of service to him than otherwise. She will
perhaps be the means of reclaiming the Prince. I hope it
will affect him in the ordinary way with a slight illness,
and so eradicate his prejudices. Farewell, my dear friend.
I have written this letter on the spur of the moment. The
post is about to depart. You will receive this letter with
the foregoing one on the same day.

The same to the same.

July 20.

This Civitella is one of the most serviceable men in the
\vorld. The Prince had not long left me when a note ar-
rived from the Marquis, in which he politely reminded me
of my promise, I sent him immediately a bond, executed
by the Prince for six thousand zechins ; in less than half
an hour it was returned, with an enclosed draught for double
the sum. The Prince accepted it, but insisted that the
bond should be given in return, which was only for the
space of six weeks.

This whole week has been spent in enquiries after the
mysterious Greek lady. Biondello put his machines in
motion ; but all were fruitless. He has indeed found the

THE GHOST-SEER.

waterman ; but he could learn nothing farther from him,,
than that he had set both the ladies on shore upon the
island of Murano, where two chairs waited for them. He
supposed her to be an English lady, because she spoke a
foreign language, and paid him in gold. He did not know
her conductor, but he appeared to him to be a looking-glass
manufacturer from Murano. We were now convinced that
we had not to seek for her in the Giudecca, and that she
was probably at home upon the island of Murano ; but the
misfortune was, that, from the description which the Prince
gave of her, she could not be known by a third person.
The impassioned frenzy which seized him at the moment
hindered him from observing her minutely. To that to
which other people would have principally directed their
attention, he was quite blind. After such a description as
his, one might have sought for her in Ariosto or Tasso with
more probability than upon a Venetian island. His en-
quiries must be made with the greatest secrecy and precau-
tion, to prevent impeaching the virtue of the lady ; and as
Biondello was the only person besides the Prince who had
seen her through the veil, and therefore could know her
again, they sought together for her in ah1 places where it
was thought possible that she could be. The life of this
good-tempered man was this week spent in traversing all
the streets of Venice. In the Greek church he made par-
ticular enquiries, but all to no purpose ; and the Prince,
although more and more impatient at every disappointment,
was at last obliged to comfort himself till the next Sun-
day evening.

His impatience was pitiable. Nothing pleased him —
nothing excited his attention. His hours were spent in
anxiety and distress : he fled from society, but the evil in-
creased in solitude. He was never more surrounded by
visiters than he was this. week. His departure had been
announced as near at hand — all pressed themselves upon
him. Being obliged to entertain those people, to avoid all
suspicion, we contrived to occupy his mind in order that
we might dissipate his melancholy. In this situation Civi-
tella hit upon gaming ; and to detain the company, he pro-
posed to stake very high. In the mean time he flattered

THE GHOST-SEER.

himself that he should tempt the Prince to play, which he
thought would very soon conquer his romantic ideas. This
scheme, although hazardous, they knew could not injure
him, as they had it in their power to desist at any time from
playing.

• " Cards," said the Marquis, " have often prevented me
from pursuing follies which I anticipated, and relieved me
from reflectingupon those I had committed. The tranquillity
of mind which a pair of charming eyes deprive me of, I
have very often found again at the faro table ; and women
never had half the effect upon my spirits as not being en-
abled to play from poverty."

I consented, in as far as I thought Civitella might be
in the right; but the means which we instituted began
soon to become more dangerous than the evil we endea-
voured to destroy. The Prince, who thought to make the
game attractive by betting very high, found very soon no
bounds to it. He was quite out of his element. What he
did was with apparent indifference, although his actions
betrayed impatience and uneasiness of mind. You know
how indifferent he is about money, and now he became
totally insensible of its value. Gold pieces ran away like
water. He lost almost upon every card, because he played
without paying any attention. He forfeited large sums,
because he ventured like a desperate, unfortunate man. —

Dear O , I communicate this with an aching heart:

In four days we had not any of the twelve thousand ze-
chins. Do not reproach me. I accuse myself sufficiently.
But could I prevent it ? Could I oblige the Prince to listen
to me ? Could I do more than remonstrate with him ? I
did what lay in my power : surely I may say, that I am
not guilty. Civitella also lost. I won six hundred zechins !
The unexampled misfortune of the Prince was observed by
all, and for that very reason he would not abandon the
game. Civitella, who likes to show his readiness to oblige
him, lent him immediately the required sums.

This scene is closed ; but the Prince is indebted to the
Marquis twenty-four thousand zechins. Oh how I long
for the spare money of his pious sister 1 If all princes
acted thus, my dear friend .' His Highness behaves towards

TJfE GHOST-SEER. 95

the Marquis as if he had done him the greatest honour,, and
thus he plays his part very well. Civitella sought to console me,
by saying, that he thought his extraordinary ill luck would
powerfully assist in bringing the Prince back again to reason.
As for the money, he was not anxious about it. He himself
did riot miss it — three times as much was at the Prince's
service. The Cardinal also assured me., that the sentiments
of his nephew were sincere, and that he was always ready
to support him in them. The worst was., that these extra-
ordinary sacrifices did not at all affect him. One would
think the Prince at least had played with some intent : but
it was not so. The passion which we endeavoured to destroy
seemed only to increase with ill luck : when a great sum
was staked, all pressed around his chair with expectation,
but his eyes were watching for Biondello, to steal from his
looks the news which he might have for him. Biondello
always returned unsuccessful, and he as continually lost. The
money at last fell into very distressed hands. Some poor
noblemen, who report says are supported by the alms they
obtain in the market-place, came into the house perfect beg-
gars, and left it as rich as Jews. Civitella pointed them
out to me.

" Behold," said he, " how many poor devils this money
is of service to ; how comes it then that men of wit do not
direct their attention to such practices ? This circumstance
pleases me : it is princely. A great man may sometimes,
by his errors, make people happy, and like a bounteous
stream enrich the neighbouring fields by overflowing its
banks." Civitella' s ideas are noble — but the Prince owes
him 24,000 zechins.

At last the long expected Sunday evening arrived, and
my master could not be prevented from ..walking in the
afternoon in the * * * church. His stand was taken exactly
upon the same spot in -the chapel where he had seen for the
first time the unknown that had captivated him, yet so that
he could not immediately be seen by her. Biondello was
ordered to keep watch near the church gate, and to form a
connection with the attendants of the lady. I had deter-
mined to step, as by accident, into the boat at its return,
to trace the unknown farther, if the first scheme should not

96 THE GHOST-SEER.

succeed. At the place where, upon the report of the
watermen,, she landed, we hired two chairs, and the Prince

commanded the chamberlain Z to follow in a separate

boat, and he himself would meet her in the church, and try
his fortune there first. Civitella did not assist us, because
he had already acquired a bad character with the females at
Venice, and therefore he determined not to make the lady
mistrust his friend by his presence. You see, my dear
Count, that it could not be for want of plans, if the beau-
tiful unknown escaped us. Never was there offered up in
a church more sanguine prayers for success, nor greater
hopes created, and never was man deceived more cruelly.
The Prince waited till sunset. He trembled at every noise
that approached the chapel : the creaking of every church-
door increased his anxiety. Seven long hours passed, and
no Greek lady arrived. I say nothing of the state of his
mind. You know well what it is to be disappointed in the
attainment of an object for which one has sighed seven days
and nights.

The same to the same.

August.

No, my dear friend, you wrong the good Biondello. In-
deed you entertain a false suspicion of him. I give up to
your prejudices ah1 Italians ; but this man is honest. You
think it singular that a man of such brilliant talents, and
conduct without example, should hire himself as a servant,
if he had no secret ends to answer ; and from that you
draw the conclusion that he is a suspicious character. How !
Is it then so extraordinary that a man of talents should
make himself respected by a prince, in whose power it is
to advance his fortune ? Is it dishonourable to serve him ?
Does not Biondello clearly show that his attachment to the
Prince is personal? He has already confessed to him that
he has a particular favour to ask of him, and which, when
known, will undoubtedly unravel all the secret. He per-
haps has entered into his service with some particular view;
but may it not be innocent ? It appears strange to you
that this Biondello, when you were present, did not display
the great talents which he now seems to be possessed of.
That is true ; but he had not then an opportunity to dis-

THE GHOST-SEER. 97

tinguish himself ? The Prince did not at that time want
him, and his other qualities were discovered in him by
accident. But we experienced not long ago a proof of his
sincerity, which will remove all your doubts. The Prince
of late has been very particularly noticed. Endeavours are
made to obtain a secret knowledge of his manner of life,
and of his acquaintance. I know not for what reason
those enquiries are made ; but attend to what I shall com-
municate.

There is at St. George a public-house, to which Biondello
often resorts. He may have some love-intrigue there for
aught I know. He was there for several days in the com-
pany of advocates, men in office under the government,
merry brothers and old acquaintances. They were equally
astonished and rejoiced to behold him again. The former
friendship was renewed, and every one related his adven-
tures since their separation. Biondello also told his. He
did it in a few words. They wished him joy of his new
situation : they had heard of the splendid manner in which
the Prince lived ; of his liberality in particular towards his
people that knew how to keep a secret ; his acquaintance

with the Cardinal A was also well known ; and his

partiality for gaming, &c. &c. Biondello started. They
told him, that he played his part very well, but they said they
knew that he was the secret messenger of the Prince. The
advocates sat on each side of him, and the bottle was
speedily emptied. They persuaded him to drink more :
he excused himself, and said that his head would not bear
much wine; he therefore affected to be intoxicated. ff Yes,"
said one of the advocates at last, " Biondello may under-
stand his business ; but he has not yet finished his lesson
—he is but half a scholar." fl What is wanting ? " said
Biondello. " He understands one art," said the man ;
" that is, to keep a secret ; but he is not acquainted with
the other, which is, to get rid of it again with profit/'
" Am I likely to find a purchaser for it ? " asked Biondello.

The other part of the company left the room, and he
remained alone with his two friends, who now came to the
point. To make it short, he was to give them the means
by which the Prince became acquainted with the Cardinal

VOL. I. G

98 THE GHOST-SEES,

and his nephew,, to discover to them the sources by which
the Prince received, and the way he exhausted his money,
and to deliver into their hands the letters which were written

to the Count O . Biondello appointed to meet them,

and discuss it another time : who it was that induced them
to do this he could not get from them, but concluded, from
the great offers which were made to him, that it must be
some wealthy person who commissioned them to entice him
to this confession. Last night he discovered to my master
the whole of this affair. He was anxious to imprison the
advocates; but Biondello remonstrated, and said, if they
were ever to be at liberty again, he should lose all his credit
with that class of people, and perhaps his life. These sort
of people all hang together, and stand up for each other.
He would sooner, he said, have the high council at Venice
for his enemy than be looked upon by them as a betrayer ;
and he could not be so useful to the Prince, if he lost the
confidence of these people. We tried to conjecture with
whom this curiosity might originate. Who is there at
Venice that can be interested in knowing what my master
receives and spends ; what concerns he has with the Car-
dinal A , and what I write to you ? Is this a scheme

of the Prince — d ? or is the Armenian with us

again ?

The same to the same.

August.

The Prince abounds in happiness and love. He has
found the Greek lady. Hear how this happened. A stranger
who had travelled over Chiozza, and gave an enchanting de-
scription of that beautiful city, which is situated near the Gulf,
made the Prince desirous to see it. Yesterday his wishes
were put in execution ; and to avoid all unnecessary expense,
no other person attended him but Z— , Biondello, and my-
self, as he travelled incognito. We took places in a boat that
usually sailed to that place with company. The society was
not very select, and the voyage far from being agreeable.
Chiozza is built upon piles, like Venice, and has about
forty thousand inhabitants. You meet there very few peo-
ple of distinction ; the streets are crowded with fishermen

THE GHOST-SEER. 99

and sailors. He who wears a wig and a mantle is called a
rich man ; lappels and veils are the sign of poverty. The
city itself is handsome., but to admire it, you must not have
seen Venice.

The waterman, who had more passengers to carry, was
obliged to be quick in his return to Venice, and nothing at
Chiozza particularly attracted the notice of the Prince.
The vessel was full when we arrived. As the company was
rather troublesome on our passage thither, we hired a separate
room for our better accommodation. The Prince enquired,
who were the other passengers ? A Dominican, was the
answer, and several ladies. My master was not at all curious
to see them, and immediately went to his room. The Greek
lady was the sole object of our discourse on our passage,
and it was the same on our return. The Prince repeated
his adventure in the church in the highest transports of
delight; the time was passed in forming plans, and then
rejecting them; till, before we were aware of it, Venice
was in sight. Some of the passengers left the vessel, the
Dominican was amongst them. The waterman went to the
ladies, who, as we now learned, had been only separated
from us by a thin partition. He asked them, where he
should land them. " Upon the island of Murano," was
the answer. — " The island of Murano!" cried the Prince,
as the sudden transport of joy shot through his soul. Be-
fore I could make him any answer, Biondello rushed in.

" Do you know with whom we have travelled ? " —
The Prince started up — " Is she here ?" " Yes, she is,"
rontinued Biondello. " I am just come from her conduc-
tor." The Prince rushed out of the room. A thousand
sensations overpowered his mind, He was seized with a
Hidden trembling : a deathlike paleness spread itself over
his countenance. I burned with expectation. It is impos-
sible for me to describe to you our situation.

The boat stopped at Murano. The Prince jumped upon
the shore. She came. I perceived, from the Prince's
countenance, that it was she. Her appearance did not
leave any doubt of the fact. A more beautiful figure I
never saw : the flattering descriptions the Prince had given
of her, were fully realised. A blush of satisfaction was
G 2

100 THE GHOST-SEER.

spread over her face, when she beheld the Prince. She
must have overheard our whole conversation, and could not
doubt that she had been the subject of it. She gave her
attendant a significant look, which seemed to say, te This
is he !" and with an artless embarrassment she cast her eyes
upon the ground. A small board was placed from the shore
to the ship, on which she had to walk. She seemed anxious
to land ; but although she affected timidity, it appeared to
arise more from a desire to be assisted, than from the danger
of crossing the plank. The Prince stretched out his arm to
assist her. Necessity overcame etiquette. She accepted
his hand, and leaped upon the shore. The sudden agita-
tion of the Prince made him uncivil ; for he forgot the
other lady, who waited for the same act of politeness —
And what would he not have forgotten in that moment ? I
at last rendered her that service, and deprived myself of the
pleasure of observing how the interview, which took place
between my master and the lady, affected her. He still
held her hand in his ; and, I believe, without knowing that
he did so.

" It is not the first time, Signora, that — that — " He
hesitated. " I ought to remember," she lisped. " In the
church," said he. " Yes," said she, " it was there/'
" And could I flatter myself to-day — so near." Here she
drew her hand softly out of his. He recovered himself
immediately. Biondello, who in the mean time had spoken
with the servant, came to his assistance. " Signora," he
began, " the ladies ordered their chairs to be waiting for
them at a certain time, but we have arrived here sooner than
was expected. Here is a garden in the vicinity, where you
may retire to avoid the tumult." The proposal was ac-
cepted, and you may judge with what delight the Prince
accompanied her. They remained in the garden till late in
the evening. It fell to my lot, assisted by Z , to enter-
tain the old lady, that the Prince might remain undisturbed
with his beloved. He made good use of his time, for he
obtained permission to pay her a visit. He is now there.
As soon as he returns, I shall know more of the matter.

Yesterday, when we came home, we found the expected
remittances from our court, but accompanied by a letter,

THE GHOST-SEER. 101

which affected my master very much. He is recalled by it,
and in a tone which he has not been accustomed to. He has
answered it contemptuously, and intends to prolong his stay
here. The remittances are just sufficient to pay the inter-
est of the capital which he owes. We look for an answer
from his sister with great anxiety.

The same to the same.

September.

The Prince has had a quarrel with his court : all our re-
sources from thence are cut off. The six weeks, which were
limited for my master to have paid the debt due to the Mar-
quis, are elapsed; we have received no remittances from his
cousin, whom he earnestly solicited to assist him ; neither
have we had any from his sister. You may easily imagine
that Civitella does not remind him of his engagement ; but
the faithful memory of the Prince continually imposes upon
him the idea, that he is still the Marquis's debtor. Yes-
terday came letters from the reigning Count. We had just
concluded a new contract with the master of our hotel ; and
the Prince had openly declared, that he intended to protract
his stay in Venice. Without speaking a word, he gave me
the letter. His eyes darted fire : to me his countenance
was a sufficient indication of the contents. Should you

imagine, dear O , that they are at * * * informed of all

my master's connections ; and that calumny has been very
busy in inventing falsehoods to defame him ?

They had heard with displeasure, it is said in the letter,
that the Prince had not supported his former character, but
had pursued a conduct which was in total contradiction to
his former praiseworthy manner of thinking. They af-
firmed that he rioted with women, and was addicted to
gaming in an extravagant manner ; that he was involved
in debt ; that he studied physiognomy, and sought after
conjurors ; that he held suspicious correspondence with pre-
lates, and that he possessed a household which was more
than his income could support. They had even been
assured that it was his intention to complete his bad conduct
by turning an apostate, and embracing the Roman catholic
religion; and, to exculpate himself from the last serious
G 3

102 THE GHOST-SEER.

accusation, they expected he would immediately return. A
banker at Venice, to whom he was directed to deliver in the
amount of his debts, was authorised, immediately after his
departure, to satisfy his creditors ; for, under circum-
stances so unpleasant, they did not think it safe to trust the
money in his own hands. What accusations ! and in what
an artful manner alleged ! I took the letter, and read it
over a second time — I -endeavoured to palliate the offence,
but I did not succeed.

Z now reminded me of the secret enquiries which had

been made by the advocates. The time, the contents, all
circumstances agreed. We had falsely attributed them to the
Armenian. Now it was clear from whom they were derived;
Apostasy ! — But whose interest can it be to calumniate my
master in such an execrable manner ? I fear it is a piece
of mischief invented by the Prince — d — , who will follow
it up, to get my master from Venice. He remained silent,
with his eyes fixed upon the ground. His countenanc*
made me tremble. I threw myself at his feet. " For
Heaven's sake, gracious Prince," I exclaimed, ec do not
think of it so seriously. You shall, you will, have the
greatest satisfaction. Leave the business to me. Send me
there, for it is beneath your dignity to go personally to jus-
tify yourself against such vile calumnies : permit me to do
it. The calumniator must, he shah1, be named, and the
eyes of the * * * must be opened.

In this situation Civitella found us : he asked, with

astonishment, the reason of our embarrassment. Z and

I were silent. The Prince, who never made any distinc-
tion between him and us, was now too much agitated in his
mind to act prudently on this occasion, and commanded us
to communicate to him the contents of the letter. I hesi*
tated, but the Prince snatched it from my hands, and gave
it to the Marquis himself. I am your debtor, Marquis,"
he began, after he had finished the letter, " but let that
give you no uneasiness. " Allow me but a respite of
twenty days, and you shall be paid." " Gracious Prince!"
exclaimed Civitella, with feeling and surprise, " do I de-
serve this ? " ' ' You did not choose to remind me of my
engagement. I know your delicacy in this matter, and

THE GHOST-SEER. 103

thank you for your liberality. In twenty days, as I said
before, you sball be paid." " What is the meaning of all
this ? " said Civitella with anxiety. " Explain to me this
mystery. I cannot comprehend it."

We gave him all the information in our power. He
fell into a rage. The Prince, he said, must insist upon
satisfaction : the offence is infamous. In the mean time,,
he conjured the Prince to make use of his property and
credit as if they were his own. The Marquis left us, and
the Prince still continued silent. He walked with hasty
steps up and down the room : something of an extra-
ordinary nature seemed to oppress his senses. At last he
stood still, and murmured incoherently — " Wish yourself
happiness — at nine o'clock he died."

i We looked at him with horror. " Wish yourself hap-
piness," he continued. " Happiness — Did he not say so?
What was it that he meant by these words ? " i( Why do
you now repeat that foolish admonition ? " I exclaimed,
" What has this to do with it ? " "I could not then un-
derstand what the Armenian meant by that expression.
Now I comprehend him. Oh, it is intolerably hard to
have a master over one ! " " My dearest Prince ! " " Who
can make me experience it ! — Ah ! it must be exquisite !"

He stopped again. There was in his countenance a
wildness resembling insanity. I never before had seen him
so much agitated. " The most miserable among the
people," he continued, " or the next Prince to the throne !
are the same. There is but one distinction among men —
to obey or to govern." He once more looked into the
letter. " You have seen the man," he continued, f( who
has ventured to write thus to me. Would you salute him
in the street if fate had not made him your master ? By
heavens ! there is something wonderfully great about the
wearer of a crown ! " He continued speaking in this un-
intelligible manner for some time, and many of his words I
dare not commit to paper. But the Prince has discovered
to me a circumstance, which involved me in surprise and
anxiety, and which may probably ere long lead to bad
consequences. We were ignorant of the family circum-
stances at the court of * * * until now. The Prince
G 4

104? THE GHOST-SEER.

answered the letter upon the spot, though I opposed it
with violence, and the manner in which he has done it
will, in all probability, prevent a reconciliation.

You will also be desirous, dear O to hear some-
thing about the Greek lady. I can say but little upon
that subject, as I am not able at present to learn any thing
satisfactory concerning her. The Prince discloses no-
thing, because he is, no doubt, bound to secrecy, as I
presume, by his word of honour. But she is not the
Greek lady that we supposed. She is a German of noble
extraction. It is reported that she has a mother of rank,
and also that she is the fruit of an illicit connection, of
which much was said in Europe. Clandestine pursuits, it
is said, have forced her to seek refuge at Venice ; and these
also are the reasons why she avoids society, and secretes
herself in a private dwelling, where it would have been
impossible for the Prince to have discovered her. The
veneration with which the Prince speaks of her, and cer-
tain traits which he observes in her conduct, seem to
authorise this presumption. He is passionately fond of
her, and his attachment increases every day. In the first
outset the visits were not repeated very often; however,
the second week the interval was shortened, and now not a
day passes without the Prince's being there. We are not
able to see him sometimes for whole evenings together ;
and even, if he is not in her society, she is the only object
that occupies his attention. His nature seems to be
changed. He walks about like a madman: he is in-
attentive to every thing that formerly interested him.

What will be the consequence, dearest friend, I cannot
imagine. The quarrel with his court has thrown my
master into the degrading situation of being dependent
upon an individual, the Marquis Civitella. He is at
present master of all our secrets, and perhaps of our fate.
Will he always think so nobly as he does at present?
Will this good understanding be of long duration ? and is
it right to give so much power and consequence to a man,
let him be ever so excellent a character ? A letter has
been despatched to the sister of the Prince. The issue of
it I hope to communicate to you in my next letter.

THE GHOST-SEER. 105

The Count O , in continuation.

But this promised letter never arrived. Three whole
months passed over,, before I obtained any farther accounts
from Venice ; an interruption which is explained in the se-
quel. All the letters of my friend to me had been sup-
pressed. You may guess the situation of my mind, when,
in the month of December, I obtained the following writ-
ing, which mere accident (Biondello's illness) brought to
my hands.

" You do not write. You do not answer. — Come —
Oh, come upon the wings of friendship. Our hope is gone.
Read this with resolution. All our hope is gone. The Mar-
quis's wound is mortal. The Cardinal cries for revenge,
and his assassins seek the Prince's life. My master — Oh,
my unhappy master ! Is it come to this ? Unworthy, ter-
rible fate ! We must fly like criminals from the poniards
of murderers. I write to you from the Convent ***,
where the Prince has taken refuge. He is lying asleep upon
a mattress by my side. Alas ! it is the slumber of exhausted
nature, which will soon again resign him to the horror of
new sufferings. During the ten days that she was ill, no
sleep closed his eyes. I was present at the dissection of
the body. They discovered traces of poison. To-day she
will be buried.

" Alas, dear O , my heart is almost broken. I was

witness to a scene that never will be rooted from my me-
mory. I stood by her dying bed. She expired with divine
resignation, and her last words hailed her beloved to accom-
pany her to the throne of heaven. All our resolution for-
sook us ; the Prince alone was firm and collected ; and
though he must have suffered almost beyond description,
yet he had fortitude enough to refuse the pious fanatic her
last prayer."

In this was enclosed the following : —

To the Prince ***, from his Sister.

" The religion which the Prince *** has embraced will
not let him want the means to continue his present mode of

106

THE GHOST-SEER.

life, which is to be attributed to that alone. I have tears
and prayers for an unfortunate, but no more benefits for one
unworthy of them.

" HENBIETTE."

I set off immediately; and travelling night and day, in
the third week' I arrived [at Venice. My haste was of no
consequence. I went to comfort an unhappy being ; but I
found one who did not want my feeble assistance. F
was very ill, and was not to be spoken with, when I ar-
rived ; they gave me, however, the following note : —

(c Return, dear O , to where you came from. The

Prince does not want your assistance nor mine. His debts
are paid, the Cardinal consoled, and the Marquis restored.
Do you remember the Armenian who entrapped us last year
so dexterously ? In his power you '11 find the Prince ; who
has these five days attended mass."

Notwithstanding this, I waited upon the Prince, but was
refused admittance. On the bed of my friend, however., I
heard the following extraordinary history. After taking my
lodgings, not far from the Prince's hotel, I was obliged to
wait a long time before I could speak with my friend F
He was indisposed with a fever, and the physician that at-
tended him despaired of his recovery. My situation was
afflicting in the extreme ; for I beheld the Prince, as it were,
upon the verge of a most terrible abyss, and my friend F
on the brink of the grave. Harassed almost to death with
misfortunes, I resolved, at all events, to speak once more
with the prince ; but I found, after several ineffectual at-
tempts, that it was in vain ; and the last visit I made I was
dismissed with the following intimation : — e ' That the
Prince was not to be spoken to by me, and that it was alone
owing to his former attachment for me that I still enjoyed
my liberty."

Biondello, who told me this, added to the weight of his
information, by his serious and strongly marked countenance.
I was not able to make him any answer, but felt my knees
shake under me, and my lips quiver in a convulsive man-
ner. I went immediately to my lodgings, and, almost insen-
sible with apprehension, threw myself into an arm chair.

THE GHOST-SEER. 107

and endeavoured to dispel the gloom of anticipation that
hung over me. A noise brought me at last to myself ; I
looked up, and saw the physician who attended F stand-
ing before me, whom I had not heard enter the room during
my perplexity. " I like to be myself the messenger of
happy news/' said he to me, " and I come to announce to
you, that your friend F finds himself so much reco-
vered,, that he is able to converse without difficulty, and
wishes to speak to you ; the cause of his illness seems to be
entirely removed, but you must expect to see him weak, and
rather low." I did not suffer him to proceed in his speech,
but wrapped myself up in a cloak, and hastened to congratu-
late my friend upon his recovery, with as much satisfaction
as if the welfare of millions had depended upon my walk.

" Oh ! how much have I sighed after you, my dear

O ," said he, with a feeble voice, as he pressed my hand

to his breast ; ( ' but the physician conjured me, until now,
to avoid all sensations." I looked at him. He was lying
beiore me the picture of death. A tear started from my
eye ; I could not suppress it : he observed it. " I thank
you, my friend, for this sincere proof of affection ; it con-
vinces me that my loss will not be indifferent to you."
t( Speak not of your death," said I, with concern, " the
physician assures me he has removed your complaint, and
that in a little time you will be well again." " Ay," he
replied, with a deep sigh, " he has repeatedly said so, but
I think the contrary. My internal feelings prove to me
that I cannot exist long in this world."

He sank back on his pillow. A cold sweat stood upon
his forehead. His speech became fainter by degrees ; but
I collected sufficient to understand, that he suspected some
one had poisoned him, for that he and myself had been sus-
pected for some time of having maliciously and secretly
calumniated the Prince at court. This accounted for the
cold and unfriendly treatment I had lately received from
the Prince ; and the very thought of being subject to so
powerful an enemy threw me into a state of melancholy. I
looked back upon my conduct, and tried to recollect any
circumstance that might throw some light upon the matter,
but in vain. In the midst of these reflections F— —

108 THE GHOST-SEER.

awaked, which aroused me from my lethargy. His first
word was to entreat me to be secret as to what he had dis-
covered respecting himself, and persuaded me, fearful that
a similar lot would hefall me, to absent myself immediately
after his death from Venice. He added, with a smile,
ff See me laid in my grave first, for I wish very much to
receive that last service from the hand of a friend whom I
affectionately love." I embraced him, and bedewed his
death-pale cheek with tears. " I forgive those," he said,
ff who are the cause of my death ; it will not be painful to
me ; and as you have not deprived me of your presence in
my last hours, I owe you the greatest thanks."

A long pause ensued; — after that, F related to

me as follows. I have collected into a narrative the sen-
tences which he spoke at intervals, and added what I ex-
torted from him by questions ; for his feebleness did not
permit him to speak in a continued series. I also was
often obliged to assist him, on account of the defect of
his memory, as far as it could be done by questions. I
must be permitted to introduce him speaking here, because,
of all that I communicate, nothing is done by me but the
chronological arrangement. I have, indeed, given myself
the trouble to use his own language, which I am enabled to
do, as I had my pocket-book always in my hand, and
carefully noted down every thing which I thought would
slip from my memory.

" I begin," said F , " my story from that period

when my letters to you were intercepted. By the last of
them * you know, that the Prince had fallen out with his
court, and had nothing more to expect from thence. His
sister did not write to him, and left us for the space of two
months in an anxious state of uncertainty, when the letter,
which I enclosed for you last, arrived. It threw the Prince
into the most horrid state of distress. His debt to Civitella
was very much increased, and his expenses were not in the
least diminished; and we found there was not any proba-
bility of maintaining the system much longer. — I must
confess to you, that at that period I seldom enjoyed a happy
hour. In the most splendid entertainments I was solitary,

* That from the month of September. See the foregoing.

THE GHOST-SEER. 109

and sunk in deep reflection. Z contented himself as

well as he could. If he was not obliged to be at home,
from necessity, he seldom stayed with me; and if at any
time I mentioned the subject of our distress to him, he
never listened to me, but answered, that he did not choose
to interfere in his master's concerns. I had no friend
left ; and from you I received no answers to my letters.
The Prince was seldom to be seen, being in general Oc-
cupied with Biondello, upon the management of his in-
trigues. He must have had no other thought than that of
visiting the Greek lady, for he had already promised four
times to the Marquis to pay him ; but instead of that, he
borrowed fresh sums. You know formerly with what
strict punctuality he performed a promise ; but at that
period he was completely inattentive to it.

" It was as if every thing existed only for him, and
that he had the sole right to command it. The Marquis
still continued the generous, uninterested friend of the
Prince, who studied his wishes, before they came to ma-
turity, and sought, with unremitting zeal, to satisfy him in
every particular. In his hands, I may say, our fate rested ;
arid yet he knew how to give his conduct such a colour,
that an indifferent person would have thought his existence
depended upon a single look from the Prince. Thus stood
the affair, when the Prince one evening came home very
late from the Bucentauro. He brought a book with him,
the contents of which he was so anxious to be acquainted
with, that, during the time he was undressing, he desired
me to read it out aloud to him ; for Biondello, on whom this
honour was usually conferred, under the pretext of indis-
position, which he had complained of for fourteen nights,
had been dismissed to go to bed. At last the Prince retired
to rest, and being unable to repose until the book was
finished, I was obliged to sit upon the side of his bed and
continue my task. He listened very attentively, as he sup-
ported his head upon his right arm. The clock in the
steeple of St. Mark's church struck one.* At that instant

* The Count O has probably given here the hour in which this hap.

pened, according to our reckoning of time; in Venice, and other provinces
of Italy, they begin to count the hours from one, at ,the beginning of the
night.

110 THE GHOST-SEER.

both the candles which stood before me upon the table
were extinguished. We heard thunder, which in a few
minutes became so violent, that the house seemed to shake
under us ; quick flashes of lightning illuminated our room,
and immediately all the windows and doors burst open.

(C ' Beware, Prince .' that thou dost not stain thy hand
with blood,' cried a hollow frightful voice — Again it thun-
dered and lightened, after which a solemn stillness reigned
for some time.

" f Is this a dream?' — cried the Prince, after a pause.
I did not make any answer, and was in doubt whether I
should quit the room or not. In the mean time Bion-
dello rushed in. ( For God's sake, what is the matter ?' he
exclaimed with trepidation; but, without waiting for an
answer, he took the wax candles from the table, and brought
them back lighted. He was half dressed, and appeared so
dreadfully frightened, that I became very much alarmed
for him. Observing that the Prince had not received any
injury, he seemed in some measure comforted. The Prince
asked him if he had heard any thing ? He answered in
the affirmative, and his relation accorded exactly with what
we had heard ; however, he did not see any lightning. He
was not asleep, and for that reason his evidence effectually
proved, that our imaginations had not deceived us. Bion-
dello received orders to go to bed again, and the Prince
commanded him to observe the strictest silence as to what
he had heard and seen. ' What do you think of this ? '
said the Prince, as soon as he was gone. ( I must own to
you, gracious Prince,' said I, ' that this event has almost de-
prived me of my senses.' ' Confess, that you will not willingly
believe it to be a miracle, because you know that I hold them
in contempt.' ' And yet I know not how to explain it in a
natural way.' ' We have read strange things in the book ;
how, if our fancy should have played us a trick ?' ' But
that we both heard one and the same thing, that the can-
dles in the mean time were extinguished at the same mo-
ment, and doors and windows burst open, is certain ; and
Biondello has heard the same ? '

" ' That might, perhaps, be explained. The windows
burst open because they were not fastened ; the door from

THE GHOST-SEER. Ill

the same cause; the pressure of the air became then
stronger, and the thorough draft put out the candles/
' But the words we heard — the lightning — the thunder ? '
( I ascribe them to imagination/ ' But could imagination
work upon three different persons exactly at the same time,
and in the same manner ? ' c Jf all our ideas turn to the
same point, why not ? — Have you never heard, that whole
societies have been deceived in the same manner ? To what
cause else can we ascribe the existence of so many fanatics ? '
' I allow this ; but Biondello's ideas could not surely be
similar to ours, and yet — ' ' It is possible. Have you
not heard that he was lying awake in his bed, and in all
probability listened to every thing that was said. Only a
thin wainscot separates his room from mine, and you,
besides, read with a very loud voice ? '

" I became silent, not because I was convinced, but because
I did not like to contradict him; for his countenance proved
to me that he was angry at my disputing the question with
him. He seemed satisfied, but the recollection of what had
passed banished sleep from my eyes. The following day
was destined for a grand feast, which was given in honour
of the Prince of St. Benedetto. All that Venetian splendour
and pleasure could inventwas united here. It was to conclude
with a very brilliant masquerade ball. A valet-de-chambre,
whom the Prince a short time ago took into his service, be-
cause he saved his life, remained alone at home; whilst my-
self and the Prince's whole household, Biondello not excepted,
who forgot his complaints to join the party, went to the
entertainment. The Prince was pleased with his attention
so much the more, because, in spite of his indisposition,
he insisted upon going in such a manner that the greatest
love for his Prince could only have induced him. In the
mask of a Bramin he followed him every where, at a little
distance, like his shadow. I did not suffer him to go out
of my sight, because I expected something might take place,
that might lead to a discovery of the mysterious warning
\ve had heard the foregoing night ; to which ground I also
attributed the foresight of Biondello. My conjecture was
but too well founded. The crowd of masks which were
present, left little room in the spacious hall for the dancers ;

112 THE GHOST-SEER.

thus, they were rather crowded. The Prince, in en-
deavouring to pass some one in great haste, tore a part of
his garment. He was obliged to leave the hall immediately
to repair the accident. Biondello conducted him into a
side room, and I followed. Picture to yourself our astonish-
ment, when we beheld, in a recess, the Greek lady and
Civitella conversing together. Not one of us was able to
utter a word. The Prince seemed thunderstruck : his eyes
rolled wildly in his head, and the muscles of his face be-
came convulsive. The couple apparently did not observe
us. Before we could prevent him, the Prince seized a
dagger, which lay upon a table, and rushing towards Civi-
tella laid him bleeding at his feet. The Greek lady ran with
loud shrieks into the hall.

' " For God's sake, save yourself, gracious Prince ! ' ex-
claimed Biondello, ' lose not a moment.' At that instant
he laid hold of the Prince, who was quite stupified, and
hurried him away through a side-door. I hastened after
them. Scarcely was the door closed, when we heard a
great noise in the room. In their embarrassment they had
probably forgotten to pursue us ; we therefore made our
escape. The Prince wished to go to his hotel, but Bion-
dello prevented him, and added that he could not be secure
there. The powers above * punish very rigorously any on j
that attacks a mask ; and in spite of his rank, he was in
doubt whether they would not to-morrow morning send
after him one of their fantes^, which might have very bad
consequences, He promised to conduct him to a place of
security till the affair could be settled. Biondello walked
before us with hasty steps; we followed him very close,
and I must confess, with great dread and anxiety. The
apprehension played upon my fancy so much, that I saw at
every step figures, which seemed to me all armed with
daggers. From the Prince's countenance, I easily could
perceive, that he also was very much discouraged. Not
one of us spoke a word. Like fugitive criminals we stole

* This expression, or, in his language, quei in alto, the Venetians use as a
name for the tribunal of the Inquisition. A Venetian is so afraid of that word,
that he makes use of it only in cases of great necessity, and speaks of this
tribunal with the highest veneration and beating heart.

t An officer of this tribunal.

THE GHOST-SEER.

113

through the private passages and by-streets. We were
fortunate enough to meet, near St. Samuele, a boat, which,
to all appearance, seemed waiting for us. We stepped into
it : Biondello commanded the boatman to row into the
Sestier of Castello, and to land us near St. Francisco detta
Figna, a Franciscan convent. We glided like lightning
through the water. Houses and steeples that bordered the
river soon vanished from our sight. The moon shone with
beautiful splendour ; and, at intervals, we heard the distant
oars as they dashed into the stream, and the melancholy
song of the Barcarole.* — I shall never forget the impres-
sion that night made upon my mind.

' f We arrived, at last, at the before-mentioned place ;
and Biondello procured us, even at that time of night,
through the means of an acquaintance, the best accommo-
dation. We were obliged to live there in great secrecy,
and I observed that the Prince deeply felt his situation.
Biondello walked out in different masks to learn how the
matter stood, and what the Prince had to fear ; but for
many days he returned without success. At last he came
into the room, about night-fall, in great agitation. c We
must depart hence,' he cried with a trembling voice,
' we must depart this moment ! Your life hangs on a
thread, my Prince ! The Marquis is mortally wound-
ed; the Cardinal has hired twelve assassins to murder
you, and he who perpetrates the deed is promised one
hundred sequins ; a price which an assassin would be
studious to earn, were it even to take the life of the
head of the church. They already are acquainted with
our abode — we must hasten away as quickly as pos-
sible !'

" Had not Biondello been with us, we could not pos-
sibly have escaped our fate ; but this indefatigable and
attentive man assisted us always with the best advice. He
brought us clothes, as a disguise, and we hired a boat for
our conveyance. Biondello entered into conversation with

* Barcarole are a kind of watermen. They sing for entertainment, whilst they
are lying solitarily in their boats, expecting customers. They know by heart
many passages of the poets, and add to them music of their own composition,
which they endeavour to make adequate to the words. One is heard to begin ;
another, who perhaps does not know the first, hears, and answers him, and
they seldom discontinue their song till their business calls them away.
VOL. I. H

114 THE GHOST-SEER.

the waterman, and we experienced, to our astonishment,
in what great danger we were placed, and how industrious
the assassins were to earn the hundred sequins. Sus-
pecting that some one might he able, by the boatman, to
trace our route, to deceive them, we continually changed
our boat, and went a very circuitous way about. At last

we arrived at the convent . A friendly monk, also

an acquaintance of Biondello, received us at the gate, and
conducted us immediately to a room, which was retired
and clean, but not furnished for the reception of a prince.
' A lady, in the last agonies of death, wishes to speak to
you,' said the monk the next day to the Prince. He
started as if he had suffered an electrical stroke. ' Who
is she ? ' he exclaimed hastily. c I do not know ; I have
not enquired concerning that. She has lived for two years
in this convent. Whence she came is unknown. It
is our duty to receive every stranger, within our walls,
without first asking who he is, or whence becomes. — We
suffer every one to keep his secret, if he will not discover
it to us willingly.'

ef The Prince seemed lost in deep reflection. ' How
long has she been ill?' he said at last. ' To-day is the
seventh.' { Where is she ? I will go to her.' He fol-
lowed the monk.

" In the sick room, my dear friend, was his Greek lady.
I have forgotten to mention, that he had not an opportunity
to speak to her for two days previous to the unhappy
masquerade-ball ; it was clear now what detained her. I
myself saw her, and I am not able to describe my feelings,
when I beheld the most charming creature in the creation,
who was formerly the admiration of every one, but now the
victim of horror and disease. Upon her lovely face were
marked the signs of death. — I no longer doubted, that at .
the ball we must have been mistaken in the person ; but
the Prince, in total opposition to his former character, still
entertained his doubts. This affected his sensibility to
such a degree, that nothing could be equal to it. His
ardent affection threw him into the most violent paroxysms
of despair, when he saw the object of his heart in the arms
of death ; but, in a few minutes, the fatal scene at the ball

THE GHOST-SEER. 115

rushed upon his mind — he turned from her with disgust,
impressed with the idea that she had treated his love with
scorn. His eyes sparkled with rage, and, as in agony, his
limbs trembled ; but this, when he looked upon the patien-t
innocent, was changed into sympathetic melancholy. His
situation was terrible. Although she herself suffered very
much, she sought to console him. This circumstance
almost drove him to distraction, I tore him by force from
her bed. He sat silent in our room for some time; at
last he exclaimed — ' I am shamefully deceived ! She,
whom I adored, despised me, and rioted licentiously in tho
arms of another.'

" ' Gracious Prince, be satisfied. All circumstances
clearly prove, that she was lying ill here when the deed
happened. It must have been quite a different person/
f Did I not see her — I, who preserved in the sanctuary of
my heart the smallest of her favours — I, who existed only
for her, who thought her one and the same with myself —

to be treated thus ! '•• ' Pardon me, gracious Prince,

did you not say yourself, that under such circumstances,
one might be easily deceived :?' ' Did you not see her
also ?' ' Your rash action hindered us from observing her
minutely.' ' And how came she to know that I was in the
convent ? The plan is finely laid to decoy me again into
the net; but it will not succeed!' ' Do not mistrust her.
— An unhappy affair brought us hither ; and, meeting her
in such a pitiable situation, must have operated strongly
upon your mind, and — ' ' Will you remind me of my
weakness ? I believed, from the first moment, that it was
a juggle.' ' Her illness a juggle?' e Is that impossible,
after having had the experience that we have ? '

" I know not how long this conversation would have
lasted ; for the more I endeavoured to convince him of his
error, so much the more he opposed me ; and his under-
standing, formerly so enlightened, did not look upon what
appeared the fact as at all probable. Biondello's arrival
prevented a continuation of our discourse. He did not,
however, bring news of our being safe ; yet the Prince
became, in one respect, more composed. For, he said it
was in several places reported, that the lady, on account .of

Il6 THE GHOST-SEER.

whom we had suffered so much, was no other person than
a certain V — Hi, who was of an indifferent character,, and
extremely like the Greek lady. The similarity of the
dress, and the darkness of the room in which they were
sitting, served also to deceive us. How his beloved knew
that he was in the convent, was also explained to his
satisfaction. One of her footmen had discovered Biondello
— she had often made particular enquiries after the Prince,
and having discovered his retreat, desired once more to see
and speak to her beloved. Conscious of her innocence, her
sufferings made a greater impression upon the mind of the
Prince. He very seldom quitted her bed, and gave himself
up entirely to sorrow. The cause of her dissolution will
also be that of mine. — Oh ! that I might die with the
tranquillity that she did ! Her patience under her suf-
ferings, her serenity of mind, when the shadows of death
surrounded her, contributed to make her more beloved than
ever. Oh ! that I might be certain of such a happy death
as hers ! * This angel died by poison,; for, on the dis-
section of her body, at which I was obliged to be present,
the clearest proofs of it were visible.f

" The situation of the Prince I am not able to describe
to you. I trembled for his safety ; for when he saw the
corpse carried to the grave, he burst into a loud hysterical
laugh, and, as in a fit of madness, uttered expressions that
I never wish to recollect. Several days passed, in which
nothing remarkable happened. Biondello's accounts were
always the same, and the Marquis had not yet recovered
from his indisposition. We did not perceive that they
were at all solicitous to discover us, although he assured
us, that they had not yet given over the pursuit ; and that
our safety depended upon our remaining quiet ; for their
revenge would not be satisfied but by blood. For want of
room I was obliged to sleep in the Prince's apartment. It
was about midnight when he came to my bedside and waked
me.

" c Have you heard nothing ? ' said he. — I replied in
the negative, for I had slept very soundly, my rest having been

* This wish of my friend was fulfilled in every particular.

f He has already mentioned this in his last letter. See the foregoing.

THE GHOST-SEER. 11?

broken the preceding night. f Has any thing happened to
you,, gracious Sir ? ' ' Had I not the proof in my hands,
I should think it was a dream. It seems as if I am sur-
rounded every where hy invisible beings. I was just on
the point of falling asleep, when I was disturbed by the
most enchanting music. Whilst I listened to find whence
the sound came, a genius appeared to descend through the
upper part of my bed, graced with all the charms with
which our painters usually represent them ; but no pencil
ever portrayed such a perfection of irresistible beauty. A
soft light surrounded it, and illuminated my bed. I had
drawn the curtain very close. The night lamp burnt
faintly, and on witnessing this apparition, I reflected upon
the former prophecy, which, alas ! was so punctually ful-
filled. I remained lost in astonishment and fear. With
a melodious voice it spoke to me : — My lord and master
sends thee a letter ; open and read it, but not before the first
beam of the sun announces day, and conquer all disbelief!
He let fall a letter, and melted, as it were, into a cloud,
which vanished by degrees. His disappearance was accom-
panied by the same agreeable music as announced his ap-
proach, and a rich perfume diffused itself around me.

" The Prince shewed me the letter. It was exactly like
a common letter ; only the seal consisted of several' symbols,
which we could not explain, and it was not directed. He
put it into his pocket. ' Will you not open it ? ' said I.
f To-rnorrow at the appointed hour/ ' You believe, then, in
this apparition ? ' He was silent for a while. ' Must I not ?
— —Oh ! what would I give if I could but still doubt it, and
persevere in that philosophy, of which I boasted so much !
Now I must give up all. I believe now in every thing !
Can I do otherwise, after what has happened to me ? '

" He slept no more that night, but conversed of ghosts
and supernatural appearances ; and I soon experienced how
much he inclined to believe in the possibility of them. At
the appointed time he took the letter from his pocket, and,
behold, there was a direction upon it ! This, although a
trifle, greatly astonished the Prince ; and you may easily
conceive how he was affected at the moment. He opened
it. It was a mere cover ; but there was enclosed a receipt
H 3

118 THE GHOST-SEER.

from Civitella, not only for the sums which he had lent to
the Prince, but also for the interest ; and a letter from him
©f which I will give you a copy ; I transcribed it on account
of its singularity : —

' My gracious Prince f

' The enormity of my crime is so great, that I ask of
you forgiveness, and hope your heart will not deny it, as
my repose and future happiness depend upon it. You
punished my imprudence, at that unfortunate ball, by a se-
vere blow ; and I, like a madman, suffered myself to be
evercome by rage, and thirsted for revenge. After the
abominable custom of this country, I begged of my uncle
to hire a party of banditti to kill yon — the saviour of my
life. The thought oppresses me with horror; but you,
who gave the wound, were also able to cure it, and could
have done it by one word ! — Oh ! you, at whose command
the higher powers wait, why do you fly from my weak un-
pardonable revenge, which you could have suppressed at
pleasure? — Why did you send me the sums of money,
which I lent you with such satisfaction, thus to deprive me
of the consolation, which you at first so nobly gave me ?
Whilst you thought me worthy to share with you my for-
tune, you did not want it. — Oh ! act with generosity and
forgive me, for, without that, my recovery will be to me
the most unhappy period of my life, I cannot excuse my
temerity ; no, I am not able to do it — but you will be less
indignant at my conduct, if you consider that it is by edu-
cation alone such a detestable self- revenge can be justified.
Am I not by such appearances punished enough ? — Alas !
the recollection of it will never be rooted from my memory.
As I lay upon my bed, suffering the most excruciating pain,
and the bystanders expecting my death every moment,
there appeared to me a figure, in a long black Tartar dress,
and girded round the loins with a golden belt. It approached
near to my bed r its white beard flowed upon its breast, and
a penetrating frown sat upon its brow : it looked around,
and immediately my attendants sunk to sleep. Wretch! —
it cried, with a terrible voice — who has ventured to per-
secute him with vengeance,, who could instantly destroy thy

THE GHOST-SEER. 119

life, if he would make use of the power he has in his hands ?
I will not repeat the dreadful remonstrance which I heard.
It was a miracle that I did not expire under the agitation
this appearance occasioned. Having struggled for some
time in the most terrible torments, the figure touched me. I
was instantly free from pain, and perfectly recovered. Be-
fore me, on the table, were lying heaps of gold, for which
I was obliged to give a receipt. It also desired me to ask
your pardon in writing, though I did not know where to
address you, arid upon which my whole welfare would de-
pend. Oh ! do not refuse your compassion to a miserable
wretch. — When and how you will obtain this letter I do
not know ; but the spirit assured me that you would, for
certain, have it. Alas, gracious Prince ! return to me
again. For, with sincere repentance, an unworthy being
will wait upon you in the ante-chamber of your hotel, as
soon as day breaks.

e Your unworthy friend,

' ClVITELLA/

" What we felt on reading that letter I need not, dear

O describe to you. It was an event which filled us

with astonishment. The Prince did not doubt the fact ;
but he would not quit his haunt, without first having made
all possible enquiry as to its authenticity. Biondello, who
was still asleep, was called, and commissioned to enquire
very cautiously into every circumstance. The voice im-
mediately repeated, — ' Overcome your disbelief!' Bion-
dello crossed himself, and went off. He did not go far
from the convent, for he heard from his spies, that we were
perfectly safe ; and he soon returned with this happy news.
The Prince conjured us to be silent as to what had hap-
pened, and set off immediately. We arrived at the hotel,
and found not only Civitella but also the Cardinal, who
came towards the Prince, and, in the humblest manner,
asked his pardon. That he forgave them willingly, and
was highly satisfied to free himself from such a dangerous
dilemma, is easily to be imagined. Nor did he undeceive
them as to the idea, that higher powers were at his com-
mand, and that the ghost had appeared to Civitella by his
H 4

120 THE GHOST-SEER.

desire ; he only begged of them to keep it a secret. Civi-
tella assured him that it was quite public, for the people
who waited upon him knew it, and had already cried him
up as a saint.

" 'But the people were asleep, how could they discover
the vision ? ' replied the Prince, with some doubt. ' Yes,
gracious Prince,' said Civitella — ' but they saw the form
descending into the room, and witnessed, on their recovering
from their terror, my restoration. They saw me at the
brink of the grave ; and to be restored so suddenly, must
have excited their astonishment ; and can you blame me,
that in the moment when I found myself snatched from
the jaws of death, I called you, with gratitude, my bene-
factor ? — You did not prohibit me to do it ; and had
that, been the case, I believe I should have violated your
commands. Oh ! most gracious Prince ! there is no greater
pain than for an uncorrupted mind to suppress the feelings
of a grateful heart ! ' He threw himself at the feet of the
Prince, whilst tears burst from his eyes. ' I have already
forgiven you,' said the Prince, raising him from the ground.
f But, am I beloved by you as formerly ? — Am I not un-
worthy of it ? ' he continued in tears. f When I forgive,
I do it not by halves,' said the Prince, embracing him.

" Life now seemed to beam afresh in the Marquis. He
did not even appear to have been at all ill, for he looked as
healthy as ever; but a fixed melancholy, that was dis-
cernible in his countenance, extinguished those traces of
benevolence which had formerly rendered him so attrac-
tive. But by this reconciliation he recovered his happy
looks, and ran through the room in an excess of joy
that indicated his felicity. After the first intoxica-
tion was over, he was overwhelmed with an agreeable
anxiety, which did not at all belong to his character, and
from which one could perceive how much he felt his in-
discretion. This, and the solicitude which originated with
it, made him more agreeable to the Prince, and he became
to him as dear as ever : he understood the smallest hint ;
he sought to read in his eyes his most distant wishes, and
soon learned how to regulate his conduct according to his
desires : besidesj ne sufficiently understood how to give

THE GHOST-SEER.

121

his actions an air of duty, and continually exclaimed
how much he owed to the Prince. Believing that the
Prince's violence upon the night of the ball was nothing
more than a punishment for his extravagancies — (for he
did not conceive that the Prince had taken the lady that was
with him for his Grecian) — he now altered his mode of life,
and often thanked the Prince that he had punished him so
severely. He declared that he was proud of it — that he
esteemed him higher than ever, and thought him more worthy
of his friendship. He candidly confessed to me, that he had
at that time entertained an idea, which would in the end
have been his ruin. He had laid a plan to seduce the
daughter of the — t — io, a charming innocent girl of six-
teen. He had seen her, for the first time, at mass, and her
beauty impressed him with this resolution.

" To gain access to the house of her parents, and to
succeed in this diabolical scheme, he was obliged to court
the favour of the same lady with whom we had seen him
at the ball, because she was a near relation to the family,
and could easily introduce him. The strictness with which
she was watched would have required him to commit a
chain of crimes before he could have obtained his aim.
His passion was so violent, that, united with his natural
imprudence, he did not hesitate to adopt the most impolite
manners to accomplish his purpose. At the brink of the
grave, he added, a man reflects upon all his actions in
another point of view ; and even those that formerly gave
him great pleasure, and upon which he had often spoken
with delight, pierced him to the very soul with horror.

" Oh ! dearest friend, Civitella is, notwithstanding all
his licentiousness, a noble man, and, if he commits a fault,
he knows how to compensate for it, in such a manner, that
one must attribute it to him as a great action. From his
discourse, and from his answers to my questions, I could
distinctly perceive, that it was not him, but the Cardinal
his uncle, who caused the banditti to pursue us so indus-
triously ; but he generously took all upon himself, and en-
deavoured to prevent us from discovering the truth. It is
much to be lamented, that so superior an understanding,

122 THE GHOST-SEER.

with such a good heart, and such an enchanting appearance,
must perish upon a Venetian soil.*

" It is a singular thing, considering the bad education
which the children of the nobility receive, from the most
stupid and rudest sort of priests, called abbes, that he was
so enlightened, or possessed of that sensibility, which gives
to all his actions so much captivating interest. I have neg-
lected to mention, that curiosity induced us to ask the
Marquis to show us the place where he had been wounded.
He opened his shirt, and, to our great surprise, we per-
ceived that there was not any appearance of a wound, or
the smallest mark of any violence."

Continuation of Count O .

My friend exhausted himself so much by his relation,
that aU the powers of nature seemed suspended. My
doubts were but too well founded ; he appeared to sleep,
but it was that of death — my tears are sacrificed to his
memory ! He was a man of fine ideas ; but from the
goodness of his heart, and an unsuspecting disposition, he
became so much the easier a prey to his enemies, whose
dislike to him arose from his attachment to his master. I
was now left alone in a great city, possessed of no friend
to whom I could communicate my thoughts, and was
obliged to take particular care not to talk with any one
but upon common topics, because I presumed, and with
reason, that I was surrounded by spies, who would put
a false construction upon my words, and make that a plea
for poisoning me. The death of my friend had made me
cautious. His earnest request, that I would quit the place,
and the message that the Prince sent to me by Biondello,
now preyed upon my mind with double force ; my sorrow
also contributed, in a great measure, to aid my determin-

* My friend here goes too far. Although the sciences at Venice are in a bad
state, for want of encouragement, there, however, are open to an enquiring
mind very considerable libraries, from which a man may gain a great deal of
useful knowledge. But the case is, that they will not make use of them. And
the young nobleman, who intends to fit himself for the service of the state, has
to study history and politics ; a few departments, which, if they are filled up,
require talents and industry, and are equally -useful and necessary for those
whom their birth has destined for the government of the republic. Tims has
my friend praised the talents of the Marquis; they seem, however, to me to
be more of a glittering nature than founded upon learning. COUNT

THE GHOST-SEER.

ation. I resolved to leave Venice. I locked myself up in
my room for a few days,, and then forsook a city in which
I had lost two beloved friends. Before I went, I sent to
the Prince a card of departure.

I had travelled about sixty Italian miles,, when the idea
that 1 might possibly save the Prince, obliged me to
return. I was irresistibly compelled to act in this man-
ner ; for my mind, ever anxious for his safety, represented
to me in black colours all that . might befall him ; and I
looked upon it as criminal not to endeavour to rescue him.
Fixed in this resolution, I entered upon the execution of
my plan, without once considering the dangers and diffi-
culties which surrounded such an undertaking. I took
the precaution, however, for fear of being discovered, to
dismiss my faithful servant, and the only one I had taken
with me. I parted from him with deep regret; for he
alone had sometimes, by his compassionate fidelity, afforded
me consolation. I was now obliged to go without com-
panionship : but it was absolutely necessary. He was an
incomparable good servant ; but he had one fault, which I
could not break him of, although he had served me twenty
years, and which was in opposition to every principle of
my scheme, — he could not keep a secret. What he
knew he published to the whole world; and, though he
did not tell it in direct terms, his actions and behaviour
betrayed it to every one he was acquainted with, if he
thought well of them, and fancied they were possessed of
the same goodness of heart as himself. It could not but
happen that he was very often deceived, but this did not
make him at all more prudent. To put unbounded con-
fidence in every one was his maxim, from which he never
departed ; for he used to say, that he should feel it severely
if he was suspected by any one; and for that reason he
thought it would be the same to others : and that the
whole world trusted him he was convinced. He believed
every one that was at all reserved in his conduct to be free
from guile. If one expressly told him to be silent upon
any subject, he became anxious not to let any thing drop
that could betray him, which never failed to lead him into
an error. For he had always in his mind, and at his

THE GHOST-SEER.

tongue's end, what he should not discover,, and very often
repeated to himself my prohibition; and it frequently
happened that he acted thus in society, and said to him-
self, loudly and significantly, " Caspar, don't forget that
your master has told you so and so — " (and immediately
mentioned the thing which he ought to have kept a secret,)
" you must not chatter out what he has prohibited you to
mention,"

He no sooner heard that it was public than he main-
tained firmly that he had told it to nobody. This serious
fault was, however, balanced by his other good qualities,
which induced me to keep him. At first I thought of
dismissing him my service, as I was not accustomed to put
up with such conduct. I used to practise an artifice upon
him, which succeeded extremely well, as he was obliged
to keep every thing he heard a secret. I related to him,
at the same time, something that was unconnected with
the subject, and desired him particularly not to mention
it: by that means I deceived him, and the subject J
wished to be a secret was forgotten. I did not mention
to him my determination respecting him; but wrote a
letter, and sent him forward with it, under the pretext of
bespeaking quarters for me. He was obliged to deliver
this letter to a landlord at , with whom I had fre-
quently lodged, and who knew him to be an honest man.
I requested him to inform my servant that I had thrown
myself into a river. I enclosed a bank-note, and com-
manded him to make the inn his home ; begging of him,
at the same time, not to make any enquiries after me. To
preserve appearances, and to give him an idea that it
grieved me to part from him, I wrote an affectionate
farewell-letter to him, and begged of him again to fulfil
my last and particular request.

Poor Caspar's case was extremely hard; but I was
under the necessity of treating him in that manner. Had
I told him that I was obliged to part with him, on account
of my intention to travel privately, he would have sought
me every where, and would have enquired of every body,
whether they had seen or heard any thing of me; my
hiding-place, by that means, would have been discovered,

THE GHOST-SEER. 125

and my death the certain consequence. I was convinced
that he would punctually fulfil my last request, and it
would be very easy for me to find him again when I
wanted him. I begged of him to be comforted ; that he
would not commit suicide I was convinced ; for the respect
which he had for the last request of a deceased friend was
uncommonly great. I hope my readers will pardon this
digression ; Caspar was my faithful servant, and deserves
more than this poor tribute for his gratitude.

After hesitating a considerable time., (suspicious,, pro-
bably of my intention,) Caspar separated from me. With
the greatest emotion I looked after him until he disappeared.
I was now left alone. Quite undetermined which road I

should take,, I departed for . On the day of my

arrival, I heard that, in the evening, there was to be a
masquerade ball ; and a thought struck me, which I im-
mediately put in execution. I bought the habit of a Polish
Jew, ornamented my chin with a large beard, coloured my
eyebrows and face, and wandered thus towards Venice.
The goods which I was possessed of, and my horse, I
turned into money, and secreted it, with some jewels, in my
belt. I did not doubt my ability to play my character
faithfully ; for I had been a long while in Poland, and had
dealt with the Jews ; inclination too, partly, as well as
necessity, induced me to learn their language, in which I
was so well skilled, that I have, even by the Jews them-
selves, been taken for one of their tribe. I travelled the
greatest part of the way on foot, and about twenty miles
from Venice entered an inn, where I met poor Caspar.
He was sitting in a corner of the room, and seemed totally
absorbed in thought. I was anxious to avoid being seen
by him, and, for that reason, was about absenting myself
from the room, when he came towards me, and asked me
from whence I came ? This made me bolder, and I told
him the place where I had passed the night before. The
word was scarcely out of my mouth, when he enquired if
I had not seen his master? " No," I answered quickly, and
reflected afterwards, how unthinkingly it was done ; be-
cause it gave him to understand that both of them were
known to me. But it did not strike Caspar in the same

126 THE GHOST-SEER.

way, and this no induced him to sit near to me, and to
relate, with the most heartfelt sorrow, the history of his
master. I reminded him to fulfil the last request of his
benefactor, and heard, to my astonishment, that he did not
think me dead. I immediately invented a story which
convinced him of the fact. He departed early the next
day, and promised me that he would faithfully observe my
request. He took an affectionate leave of me, without
knowing who I was, which convinced me that I might live
at Venice in security ; for I hoped to render the Prince ser-
vices of great consequence.

Before I arrived at Venice, I met with an accident,
which had great influence on my conduct. I stopped to-
wards night-fall at an inn, which stood by the road-side.
I found there a Polish Jew, who was at the point of death.
He no sooner beheld me, than he addressed himself to me,
and in a few minutes we entered into conversation, in
which the greatest confidence was displayed. By my com-
passion, and the little service which I rendered him, I at
last gained his utmost confidence. His illness increased ;
there was no hopes of his recovery. When we were alone,
he called me to his bedside, and I experienced what
astonished me beyond description. " I shall depart," he
said, " very soon to Paradise, there to repose in the laps of
Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob ; but I have something of great
importance, which I cannot carry with me. You have
gained my confidence, and for that reason I shall deliver it
to you." — I was obliged to swear that I would punctually
perform all he required ; at the same time, he assured me,
that I should be very generously recompensed for it. He

went on: — " The an confederates have sent me with

a letter," — (I was obliged to take it from the lining of his
cap,) " instead of me, do you deliver it."

How great was my astonishment, when I heard the
Armenian described from head to foot ! He did not know
who he was ; but he told me the place where he was to be
found, at certain hours, so that I could not possibly mistake
him ; he gave me, besides, a sign, which was unknown to
any one else, and the answer of the Armenian would clearly
prove him the person. He mentioned, gwith the greatest

THE GHOST-SEER. 127

care, every particular several times, that I might not err.
Although I did not want this precaution, I seemed to be very
attentive to what he said, that he might not suspect that I
had any knowledge of the Armenian. I experienced by

the an business a great support to my plan ; for I was

anxious that they should think me the real messenger, and
not suppose that this man had merely sent me. I con-
sidered I should, on that account, be trusted with greater
confidence. It was for the first time in my life that I
wished for the death of a fellow-creature ; but I certainly
did in this instance; for I counted upon what I knew
already, and believed for certain, that I should save the
Prince as soon as I could light upon the Armenian ; and
this would all have been frustrated if the Jew had lived !

He died the following day. I performed, according to
his request, the last service, and departed the next day.
The letter I secreted in my cap. My heart beat with joy,
and I offered up my thanks to heaven for its favour. I
thought I should never reach the place of my destination.
I arrived, at last, in Venice ; my heart palpitated. I took
lodgings in a remote part of the city, at a small inn. Be-
fore I arrived there, however, I was very much alarmed.
As I stepped into a boat, I beheld Biondello in the same.
I was fearful of being discovered, because I could not trust
to my disguise, as there were so many sly fellows in the
city ; although I avoided being detected by Caspar (who
knew me so well). But if a man studies to avoid being
known, the more he acts his part, the sooner he is likely to
betray himself. I was influenced by this consideration,
and therefore put a good countenance upon the matter.
Biondello patted my shoulder, and gave me to understand,
that my presence was very dear to him. I might have
given him some suspicion, if he had not disembarrassed me,

by enquiring something of . I answered him, that

he must observe I had made secrecy my rule of conduct.
Instead of being angry with me for such a reply, he was
very satisfied with it. This peculiar conduct was very
mysterious, but by degrees it cleared itself up. To my great
satisfaction I learned from him, that they were informed of
my death, and believed it ; for he asked me if they had

128 THE GHOST-SEER.

found my corpse ? I replied in the negative,, alleging that
it was impossible, on account of the ice that floated down
the river — that I confirmed the report, every one will
readily believe.

As soon as I arrived in the room which I had hired at
the inn,, I bolted the door, and opened the letter. The task
was very difficult to perform ; but I tried a variety of ways,
and, at last, succeeded. To my great disappointment it
was written in characters, and perfectly unintelligible. I
made, however, several attempts to understand them, but
in vain. I therefore copied them very exactly, in hopes, at
some future time, to find the key to them. I closed the
letter again, so that no traces of my having opened it could
be perceived, and appeared the following day, at the ap-
pointed time, in St. Mark's Place. It was in the begin-
ning of January : it was crowded with characteristic masks *
and spectators, who were enjoying the entertainment. I did
not mix with them ; I was upon the watch for the Armenian.
I pressed often through the crowd, and sought him in every
corner, but he was not to be found. I resolved to wait un-
til night, and then return again to the appointed place
upon the Broglio, close to the church. The first person
whom I saw was the Prince. He was in a domino, but his
mask, which I knew, as well as his appearance, betrayed
him. He stood before a pillar, upon which were a great
many characters, and near him a mask dressed like a magi-
cian. The latter had a long white beard that descended to
his belt, to which was attached a black rope, apparently as
a symbol of his profession. In his right hand he held a
stick, with which he pointed to the pillar, and seemed to
explain something to the Prince, who listened very atten-
tively. My curiosity prompted me to approach nearer, but
it was useless, for they spoke so low that, in the tumult,

* I give this note for the information of those of my readers, who are unac-
quainted with the manners and customs of Venice. The characteristic masks
are in Venice customary, from the time of the three kings, or wise men of the
East, till the great feast day, which is the most lively in the whole year. All the
streets and squares are, at that time, full of masks, and principally the St. Mark's
Place. They represent all sorts of characters, nations, manners, and customs.
Those who speak .entertain themselves with every one who will talk with
them; they personate faithfully their adopted character, and being sometimes
men of wit, afford great entertainment. You frequently see amongst them the
Improvisator i, who are a kind of poets famous for impromptus.

THE GHOST-SEER. 129

no person could hear a single word. The magician, at
last, turned round and discovered me. I thought that he
played his character for mere pleasure, and was entertaining
the Prince with his tricks ; but I was greatly mistaken. The
more I reflected upon this event, the more I was convinced
that it was designed for some particular purpose. The ma-
gician went leisurely away. I had made it always a rule to
notice the smallest circumstance that concerned the Prince,
and therefore followed him immediately : but he disappeared,
and I saw the Armenian coming towards me. I gave him
the sign and he answered it, bidding me, at the same time,
follow him. I complied, and he conducted me into a dark
street. He there unlocked the door of a house, and we went
together into a small room. He took the letter from me,
and, overlooking it slightly, seemed to be satisfied with its
contents. He put several questions to me on account of the

business, which I answered so that I did not give him

the least cause to suspect me. He desired me to meet him
again the next evening. He had parted from me, when
he returned back, and addressed me in the Venetian
language ; he had before spoken, to my great astonish-
ment, in German. My genius assisted me; I shook my
head, and told him that I did not understand him.
He smiled, and said he had forgotten himself. He was
willing to remind me once more not to mistake the appointed
hour the next evening. I promised him that I would not,
and he went away. This circumstance made me still more
cautious ; and I maintained my character so well, that, when
I quitted it, it became very difficult for me not to use the
tone and manners of a Polish Jew.

The time, until the hour arrived, passed very slowly;
at last, it was announced by a neighbouring clock, and I
went immediately to the appointed place. I found the Ar-
menian there, who hastily conducted me to a boat. Before
we quitted it I was blindfolded, and when the bandage was
taken from my eyes — guess my astonishment and terror !
— for I found myself in the same hall where I had wit-
nessed the frightful appearances I have before mentioned.
It way exactly the same, but I thought the assembly were

VOL. I. I

130 THE GHOST-SEER.

more numerous. The hall was splendidly illuminated. The
horror with which I recognised the fatal chamber was very
visible ; for one of the assembly (by his speech, I guess it
must have been the Armenian, for, as they all appeared
masked, it was impossible to discover them,) told me to
have courage. They said also, in the Venetian language,
that a Jew was a singular animal, for he blushed at every
thing but what related to traffic. The company took their
seats at a long table, covered with black cloth. One of
them seated himself at a little table, upon which there were
pens, ink, and papers. He was probably the secretary of
the society ; for he questioned me very minutely respecting

the letter of , and as to every circumstance that was at

all connected with it, and wrote down all my answers to his
questions. I could easily guess by this how much their
success depended upon my answers ; for he read them over
to me, advising me, at the same time, to alter what did not
appear to me perfectly correct. I was too well prepared to
drop any thing that might betray me ; I had likewise time
enough, as I was questioned by an interpreter (I believe
it was the Armenian himself ), to think of the best answers.
They were perfectly satisfied with me, and gave me a con-
siderable present. The secretary paid it to me. I do not
know how it happened, but his mask fell from his face.
He endeavoured to put it on again as quickly as possible, but
I already had seen that it was — Biondello 1 The accident
seemed to operate very forcibly upon the other members.
" This circumstance," said they, " must now cost the poor
Jew his life, to ensure our safety ; for in such cases as
these we cannot depend upon honour."

"Accursed principle!" I thought, as the sweat poured
down my forehead. I had sufficient resolution left to
affect not to understand what was said ; for my attention
was, to all appearance, directed to the money I had re-
ceived. I heard their debates with apparent indifference,
although they became so violent that they did not at all
regard me. The question was, whether they should mur-
der me or not. It was utterly impossible for them to
understand each other, the tumult was so great. The Ar-
menian, who had remained quiet for some time, now gave

THE GHOST- SEEB. 131

a sign with his hand, and there ensued immediately a
deadly silence. — This would have convinced me, had I not
guessed it before,, that he was the leader of this secret so-
ciety. After a short pause, he began : —

fe To provide for our safety, is our first and sacred duty.
To maintain it, no sacrifice would be too great; but I
cannot consent, on this occasion, to put a man to death
whose services have been so essential to us. — I might say,
and with justice, that it would militate against our plans,
and destroy that which we have so carefully cherished."
He paused — but no one answered him. I became more
composed. He proceeded. "And why should we kill
him ? — because he saw one" (pointing to Biondello) "un-
masked ! — Is he not in some measure a party concerned?
and would it be possible for him, were this not the case,
in the city of Venice, among so many thousand people, to
find out one single person, whom he had but just glanced
upon ? — I moreover maintain, that the love of money,
which is so natural to his nation, prevented his taking his
eyes from the table. Our mere dress, without the mask,
is sufficient to deceive any one who has not seen us in our
ordinary habits."

They all agreed with him. Biondello did not, perhaps,
recollect that I had already seen and spoken to him in the
boat ; at least he would not mention it ; or he might, per-
haps, think I did not know him again. But to be certain
of the fact, the Armenian asked me if I should be able to
recognise the gentleman again whom I saw a few minutes
ago unmasked ? He put the question to me in such an
insinuating manner, that many would have answered —
ff yes," to give an idea of their powers for discrimination;
but I knew too well how the business stood. I therefore
made my answers accordingly. I affected not to know any
thing of the matter ; and, as I examined the money, I in-
nocently asked, what they particularly wished me to do ?
" See," said the Armenian, " I am not mistaken ; he has
not seen him ! — He seemed to me too stupid to be a hypo-
crite, or to think of any thing but what leads to his
interest."

Several of the others made the same observation and
i 2

13£ THE GHOST-SEEK.

seemed to regret that they had not chosen a cleverer fellow
to transact their business. " Those who have sent him/'
answered the Armenian,, "were prudent enough to see,
that a task which did not require brilliant talents to exe-
cute,, would have been faithfully and conscientiously per-
formed by him ; and indeed there is not so much treachery
to be looked for in men that only know what they see,
as in many others. — " Stupid people are always the most
honest/' added a fat gentleman (who probably could not
boast of his abilities), and laughed at this impromptu so
much, that the table, on which his belly retesd, was very
near falling down. I was dismissed, after they had en-
quired my place of abode, and commanded me to remain
there for further instructions. They conducted me again
blindfolded to the canal. My joy, when I found myself
alone and safe, I need not describe; but the dreadful
words, that they thought my death the only means of se-
curity, still resounded in my ears.

A whole month elapsed, in which I did not advance a
step nearer to the completion of my purpose, notwith-
standing my activity. My dress, and the promise which I
had made to the Armenian (and by which I hoped to
make some important discoveries), became now the greatest
trouble to me; for it prevented me from instituting those
enquiries which were necessary to aid my plans. It was
impossible for me, as I was so surrounded by spies, to
learn any thing that at all concerned the Prince without
the greatest hazard. From what I had heard and seen in
the secret society, I could only conjecture what they in-
tended to do with the Prince; but it was impossible for
me, an individual, to destroy the fabric which was built
and guarded by so many. — I was continually reflecting
upon these circumstances, which perplexed me very much,
My sleep also was interrupted by the most frightful dreams,
and was more fatiguing than refreshing. My imagination
often pictured to me the Prince falling from a precipice.
I caught him by his cloak, but it seemed to rend into a
thousand pieces, and I saw him dashed upon the ground.
I saw him struggling in a rapid stream ; I ran to his as-
sistance, and was drowned \vith him. I carried him from a

THE GHOST-SEER. 133

Conflagration, and believed we were safe, when the flames
suddenly surrounded us, and we were consumed. In short,
the most horrible images, which my disturbed mind created,
totally deprived me of my rest, and, I must confess, my
weakness made an impression upon me the next day that
was not easily to be eradicated ; although 1 had very little
faith in dreams,*

I was sitting one day (it was in the beginning of Fe-
bruary, 17 — ) in my room, wrapt in reflection. The
weather was very gloomy : flakes of snow, intermixed with
rain, beat against my window, as the wind howled round
the house. I did not quit my room the whole day. A
gentle rap at the door at last roused me from my lethargy,
and, before I could speak, I saw a man standing before me
with a show-box upon his back. He asked me if I did not
choose to see his raree-show ? and without waiting for my
answer, he set his apparatus before me. To get rid of him
quickly, I gave him a piece of money, accompanied with a
polite assurance that I had no desire to see his raree-show.
I thought he would depart immediately, but I was very
much mistaken. He first looked at me and then at the
money. At last he said, " I never had so much given me
before," and returned me the money. " You must have
made a mistake !" I started, I found I had given him, in
my hurry, a small gold piece — certainly too great a present
for my situation. He observed my embarrassment. <( Take
the money back again," said he; " I will not profit by your
error."

I did so ; though I would readily have given it to him,
through the fear of his being a spy. At that time the
smallest circumstances were to me of consequence, and
which I should not formerly have troubled myself about. —
I gave him a smaller piece. He thanked me, but entreated
me very much to look into his box. To get rid of him, I
was obliged to comply with his request. He opened it, and
I immediately started back — I beheld several scenes of the
Prince's life (which could be known only to a very few

* I hope that no one of my readers will laugh at the Count O 's weakness,

which he himself so sincerely confesses. If I had observed this beforehand, I
should have left out this little appendix, though I made it my duty to deliver
every thing to the public as I have found it. — EDITOR.

i 3

134 THE GHOST-SEER.

persons), so accurately represented, that he who had a
knowledge of them could not but recollect them. I looked
significantly at the man; he disregarded me, and begged of
me to see the other. — My astonishment now rose to the
highest degree. I saw the figure of a Polish Jew, which
exactly resembled me, with the following words under it:

" The Count O as a Polish Jew." — I lost all my

patience. In an angry manner I pushed the box from me ;
— ' ' Are the agents of hell to be found every where ? " I
exclaimed, and stamped upon the ground. " Not every
where," said the showman, as he grasped me by the hand.
" Who are you ? " I cried, starting with confusion. " Will
you desert your friend ? " I stood for a moment speechless.
He drew a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his
face. fe Do you not know your friend Seymour ? "

It was him. My joy bordered upon frenzy. At a time
when I believed myself abandoned by all, when I could not
even whisper my sentiments, for fear of being overheard
and discovered, I found a friend, who had ever deserved
my veneration and love. No one that has not been in the
same situation can possibly have an idea of my sensations.
Every misfortune operated upon me with double force,
because I had no friend to whom I could communicate my
sufferings. Now I was in possession of that valuable trea-
sure, and pressed him with affection to my heart. After
the first burst of transport was over, I begged of him to
relate to me the cause which brought him hither, and what
could have induced him to leave his native country? —
That he never would really have followed the trade of a
showman, was very clear to me. — " I wished," he began,
" as you will remember, to return to England. I travelled
through Paris ; and an accident obliged me to make a
longer stay there than I at first intended. Several un-
foreseen events reduced my finances, and I was obliged,
until new remittances arrived, to desist from pursuing my
journey. In the mean time, I resorted to all the public
places of diversion. I went one evening into a numerous
society. The bottle circulated briskly, and the conversation
became very agreeable. — At last a juggler came into the
room, and begged to entertain us with his tricks, f If they

THE GHOST-SEER. 135

are worthy to be -seen/ said a noble spark, f the society will
perhaps indulge you.' — ' To prove that they are, I will show
you a specimen,' continued he ; ' and let your own judg-
ment determine whether I shall proceed or not/ — He
performed some that were not common, and which excited
our admiration.

" The society unanimously desired him to go on ; and
every new trick he produced procured him fresh applause.
That he was an Englishman I immediately perceived by
his accent, which made me attentive to him. It seemed to
me, that his features were not unknown to me ; but I could
not immediately recollect who he was. Under the pretext
that I wished to learn some of his tricks, and to counte-
nance a countryman, I asked him to call on me next morn-
ing, and to take his breakfast with me. He came, and in a
little time I discovered that I had been intimately ac-
quainted with him from a boy. His name was Johnson.
My joy on this occasion was equal to yours when you
discovered me. I had been educated with him. His father
had been tutor at my father's. His talents, and cheerful
heart, had acquired him the patronage of my father, and he
suffered him to be my playfellow, and constant companion.
All the privileges that I enjoyed were also bestowed upon
him ; he was instructed by the same masters, and dressed
as I was. I could not show in my whole wardrobe a single
thing which he did not also possess, and frequently, I ob-
served, that he excelled me. Being the only child, the
tender love of my mother (who was dead) had somewhat
spoiled me; and I very often told the servants, haughtily,
that I was the only heir to a large fortune. My prudent
father employed this method, to show me distinctly that
from merit alone our character must be estimated j and he
gained his point by that means sooner than he would have
done by moralising. I was at first angry with him, and
hated Johnson ; but this did not last long, for, on account
of his polite and good conduct, he acquired the esteem of
the whole family ; and, by his sincere love for me, I soon
was conscious of his good qualities. We became the best of
friends, and endeavoured to excel each other in affection.
He discovered a talent for mechanics. As I did not suffer

136 THE GHOST-SEEK.

him to eclipse me in any thing, I also applied myself to the
art ; but,, by his superior industry and perseverance,, he
soon excelled me in that science : I also was not so much in-
terested with it as himself. My father let us want for no-
thing. He hired masters who gave us the best instructions.
Expensive instruments were also procured; and John-
son soon finished a variety of curious things. From thence
he went on farther. A genius like his was not satisfied
with continuing in a beaten tract ; he had a desire always
to see and study something new. Mathematics, which we
had often read with our tutor, who was a very clever and
expert man, had discovered to him several departments of
knowledge, which he now wished to acquire. He 'made
sun-dials, he manufactured optical glasses, besides electrical
machines, and never failed to execute any thing that
appeared worthy of his attention. To be brief, (for I see
clearly that the recollection of my past days, and the
qualities of my friend, have made me rather too loquacious,)
he became soon so expert and ingenious, that he often,
although a boy of fourteen years, was the object of ad-
miration ; and, on that account, he was called the little
Jack of all trades. He went on thus till he attained his
twenty-second year, when, with great industry, he applied
himself to chemistry ; in which he soon made many new
and useful discoveries. About that time my father died,
and he lost a friend who had never let him want for
any thing, but gratified his wishes at any expense. He
now determined to travel. All my persuasions to detain
him were fruitless. He stood firm to his intention, and I
could not even obtain a permission to travel with him. He
even refused the considerable legacy which my father had
left him. At that I became angry, for I willingly would
have shared with him my whole fortune, which he knew
perfectly well ; but I could not prevent him from executing
his purpose. He would not even accept any money from
me. ' Well then, you may go,' said I, and embraced him
with unfeigned sorrow.

" It is impossible for me to discover what it was that
induced him to desert the man who had acted towards him
like a brother, and for whom he had the greatest regard. —

THE GHOST-SEER. 137

I was not able to guess it. A letter which, shortly after
his departure, I received from him has discovered it to me.
After a long apology for his conduct, he says, ' that it was
impossible for him to live any longer upon the bounty of
his friends.' He considered my father's generosity as an
act of charity — but it was a wrong idea. He, however,
would endeavour to support himself. The death of my
father caused him to reflect upon circumstances that never
struck him before. He would not have a second benefactor,
that he might not miss him ; and wished not to expose him-
self to the danger of losing his support, when it had be-
come impossible for him to exist without it. And if even
he had not that to fear, he should be deficient in his duty,
if he expected that from another which he was able to pro-
cure for himself.' — He added many other things ; but this
is sufficient to give you an idea of a man who will soon
acquire your esteem ; of one who rather chose to wander
in the world, than to enjoy that rest and affluence which he
could not procure by his genius. I will not detain you
longer with his history, though it is very remarkable. You
will be more pleased if you hear it from himself; and I am
confident he will excite your admiration and respect.*

" The days which we spent together at Paris were ex-
ceedingly agreeable. We related our histories to each other,
which indeed afforded a great fund of entertainment ; for,
since I received that letter, I had not either seen or heard
from him. He said, that he had written several times to
me ; but, as I never obtained the letters, I could not answer
them. I related to him the events which happened to me

at Venice with the Prince After I had finished, he

suddenly jumped from his seat, and ran up and down the
room, as if influenced by some extraordinary idea. f We
shall save him ! ' he exclaimed. ' What, the Prince ? ' ' Yes,
the Prince ! ' he replied firmly. f How will that be pos-
sible ? ' ' My dear friend ! don't reflect upon that at pre-
sent ; it wants but one desperate attempt. I see the pos-
sibility of the measure. Judging from what I have heard,

* He has, indeed, afterwards related to Count O his history, which

also came to my hands with these papers. It is very remarkable ; and, should
I again have any leisure time, and my readers have a desire for it, I will publish
it SCHILLER.

1S8 THE GHOST-SEER.

there is something serious at the bottom of these tricks.
Let "us destroy the plans of malice, which will perhaps be
the ruin of many thousands,, before they come to maturity.'
' Suppose they have in view something more than cheating
him of his money, do you not believe that many are at
work, and that resistance would be madness ? ' ' Undoubt-
edly, open resistance — but let us work against them where
they do not suspect us, and in a way of which they cannot
perceive the machinery, but only experience the effect of its
operation. This, my friend, we certainly are able to under-
take. I am too well acquainted with the deceitful tricks in
this world which are published as wonders ; and if I can
do nothing more than merely chase away the mist from the
eyes of the Prince, I may, perhaps, save him from being
enveloped in their diabolical snares.'

" This proposition was so noble, that, although it may
prove fruitless, I consented to it. When my remittances
arrived, we made the best of our way to Italy. A trifling
indisposition, which affected my friend, retarded our jour-
ney for a little time. Johnson requested I would dismiss
my servants, and retain only one single footman, who was
sufficiently faithful and prudent not to discover any of our
plans. Johnson disguised himself and us so that we were
quite unknown ; a precaution which was very necessary. —
He also observed, that in our mean dress we should be able
to make more observations than otherwise ; for he main-
tained, that they were less suspicious of the poor than the
great. We took lodgings separately, at different inns, to
have a more ample field for the execution of our plans j we
even went so far as to have several lodging-houses, in which
we alternately resided, having first changed our dresses, and
concealed our country; for we all spoke different languages

with equal promptitude. By that means, dear O , I

succeeded in discovering you, notwithstanding your dis-
guise." (e But how was that possible ? " said I, interrupting
him. " You betrayed yourself," he replied : " I lodged in
the same inn that you did, and, by accident, was put into
the room over yours. If I awoke in the night, I constantly
heard some one speaking in your chamber. This made me
attentive. I laid myself upon the floor of the room, and

THE GHOST-SEER. 139

overheard, through a crack, all that you said. I soon per-
ceived that you were talking in your sleep. You must
have been disturbed very much by frightful dreams, for
your exclamations wery generally — Murder ! Despair! Pe-
rish! Down! Down! — Several times I heard you mention
the name of the Prince ; and this induced me to presume
that you were the man whom I had such a great desire to
see. I overheard you for several nights, and was at last
confirmed in my opinion ; for you spoke of things which
no other person but yourself could possibly know. ( Has he
not similar views with us,' said I ; ' knowing, as I do, that
he was such a trusty friend of the Prince, and loved him
so much? Is he not endeavouring to be useful to the
Prince in that disguise j because he has rendered it impos-
sible, by undeserved treatment, to appear in his true form.'"

" What \ " exclaimed I, full of admiration — " You have
been told, then, how the Prince has treated me ? " — " More
than that," he answered. " You shall soon be convinced
from Johnson's letters, which I will communicate to you
hereafter. However, I did not think proper to discover
myself to you, as Lord Seymour, until I was fully convinced
of the fact. I was suspicious, although it was improbable,
that you were a spy in that disguise for the purpose of be-
traying me : I was, therefore, obliged to act with the
greatest precaution. For that reason I appeared in the
character of a showman. I had drawn, some time back,
for my amusement, those scenes which I displayed to you,
and it immediately struck me that they would be useful to
me in this instance. Lest I should be deceived, which
must have appeared in your conduct, I kept back your por-
trait until the last, which instantly gave me to understand
that I was not wrong in my conjectures.

' e It was some time," continued Lord Seymour, ' ' before
Johnson and I were able to accomplish any of our plans,
in spite of the greatest exertions. Every evening we met
together, and communicated to each other our discoveries,
and planned what measures we were to take in future. But,
although we thought ourselves adepts at invention, we
never could, by any stratagem, approach the Prince. f A
good idea must be executed, though it may be founded on

140 THE GHOST-SEER.

a bad principle/ said Johnson, ' or all our undertakings will
avail nothing, and our assistance probably arrive too late.'
For that reason he wrote a note to the Prince, in which he
invited him to appear alone, at the dead of the night, in a
certain solitary place. He conveyed it, unperceived, into
the Prince's pocket. He had written it so artfully, that the
Prince, no doubt, presumed it came from the Armenian.
The desire he had to be farther acquainted with this mys-
terious being, from whom he had heard nothing for some
time, made us certain that he would not refuse this invita-
tion. We were not deceived ; he came. We hired two
fellows to attack him, and came past as it were by accident.
Johnson was to run to his assistance. For appearance-sake,
he struggled with them, until they ran away at a noise
made by myself and Matthias. Johnson conducted the
Prince home, and we went, as quick as possible, to our
lodging.*

" The success of this event you will find in Johnson's
letters to me. They were sent, to avoid all intercourse
with him, by a faithful waterman, to whom Johnson de-
livered them for me ; and by that means he also obtained
my answers."

And those letters I will communicate to the reader from
Lord Seymour, from a French translation, which he made
at my request, as I did not understand the English lan-
guage. I have only omitted that which the public is already
acquainted with from the preceding pages. Here the
thread will be again united, which the death of my friend

Johnson to Lord Seymour.

September 17,**

I am not able to recover myself from what I may justly
call my extravagant happiness. Friend, rejoice with me
— fill has succeeded to my utmost wishes, and I look for-
ward with pleasure to the time when the Prince will be
freed from his enemies. My whole plan is fixed upon ; and
although every thing appears in confusion, I hope, how-

* I have omitted inserting this event before, which my friend the Baron F-— ,
in his relation, has slightly mentioned, because I thought this the best place
for it. COIWIT O .

THE GHOST-SEER. 141

ever, that time will produce the desired effect. I pity the
Prince from my heart. I soon discovered how he was
situated. He has a good understanding, and an excellent
heart ; and shame to them who have so industriously la-
boured to spoil both. But why do I communicate to you
things which you know already better than myself? You
may judge of the degree in which my happiness made me
quite absent. I shall be obliged to act with more caution
in future. My plans were on the point of being destroyed ;
for Biondello came suddenly into my room as I was writ-
ing. It was fortunate that I heard him approaching : I
had just time enough to secrete all my papers, and walk
with indifference towards the window. He did not seem
to take any notice of me, but took his hat and cloak and
went out, probably upon some of the Prince's errands. But
I will now tell you every thing that appears to me of con-
sequence, that I may not again be interrupted ; it would be
impossible for me to connect my whole train of thoughts.

I conducted the Prince home, as you already know,
under the pretext of protecting him. He permitted me to
do it without hesitation ; for he did not seem to have re-
covered from his fright, into which the circumstance of
meeting two ruffians, instead of the Armenian, had thrown
him. He did not speak until we entered his room. He
then introduced me to one of his barons and Biondello, who
were in the same room, as the saviour of his life. He
thanked me heartily, and told me to ask of him any favour.
— I considered for some time, and at last told him, that he
would show me the highest mark of friendship if he would
keep me in his service ; for I had some time ago lost my
master, and had endeavoured in vain to get a new one. I
gave myself out for an Englishman of a good family ; I told
him that my eldest brother, during my minority, spent my
fortune, and forced me to the necessity of seeking for sub-
sistence in the humiliating capacity of a servant. By the
last part of my story, I hoped to excite his pity towards
me ; for I am confident that we feel always more compas-
sion for those who are reduced from affluence to poverty,
than for such as from their birth are accustomed to servi-
tude. If he sympathised with me, I could very soon

142 THE GHOST-SEER.

claim his confidence. In that point I succeeded to my
satisfaction in a short time. But what I am rejoiced at
most is, that he has made me his chamberlain ; in which
situation I shall often have an opportunity of being alone
with him. He would not, he said, degrade the saviour of
his life by a livery ; and regretted only that it was not at
present entirely in his power to make me independent of
the world.

As chamberlain, I am to have a small room to myself;
but this is not yet quite ready. Biondello has permitted
me, for that time, to make use of his. He is very friendly
towards me ; and, although I acknowledge his civility for
appearance-sake, yet I do not trust him ; for he has so
much flattery and cunning about him, that I fear he has
very little honesty left.

Several days after. — Thank God, I am in possession of
my little room, and begin to write to you again, which was
till now impossible for me to do, Biondello watched me so
narrowly. I must not attribute that to the Prince, because
he is never mistrustful. Yet I will not judge harshly. I
have not yet conversed with the Prince ; but as my clothes
are not come from the tailor's, I will ascribe it to that cir-
cumstance ; but if when I am equipped he shuns me, I
must conclude that there is something more at the bottom
of it.

One day later. — This morning, early, I obtained at last
my dress ; and you are not able to imagine with what ap-
parent rapture I put it on. Biondello was present, and
gave me joy, on my exchanging my old clothes for such
rich ones. But whilst I rejoiced to think how I had suc-
ceeded, he believed it arose from a childish love of finery,
and this, I have no doubt, made him assure me that they
fitted me extremely well. I let him enjoy his error, and
to confirm his opinion, I took every part into my hands,
and contemplated it with a foolish pride, smiled at myself
in the glass, and neglected nothing that could convey to him
the idea of my being a stupid clown. To make the joke
complete, I told him that I intended now to take a walk,
to show myself to the people, which I had not courage to
do in my old coat. I intend, by that manoeuvre., to send

THE GHOST-SEER.

143

you my first letter ; and I am sorry if you have been at all
embarrassed on my account.

. The same to the same.

October 1.

Biondello is the most cunning fox in the world ; but I
have, in spite of his ingenuity, deceived him. By the
confidence which he seems to put in me, he watches me
so closely, that if I had not taken great care I should cer-
tainly have betrayed myself; but I have at last made him
believe that I am a perfect, unsuspecting blockhead ; and
indeed it is the opinion that I wish him to have of me, in
my present situation. He studied to find out in me more
than I chose to let him know ; and the trouble he gave
himself to accomplish this, is a sure proof that in him there
is something more than the mere secretary of the Prince.
The Prince has a very high opinion of him. He does not
consider him as his servant, but his trusty friend. I pre-
tended not to understand a word of the Venetian language
(and Biondello thinks he is quite sure of it, for he has tried
many experiments to prove the fact), and all those who do
not speak English I converse with in French ; they are
not at all suspicious of me, but often talk about things when
I am present, which, if they knew I understood them, they
would certainly conceal from me. As they look upon me
to be of no consequence in opposition to their schemes, and
the Prince likes me to be about his person, I now constantly
attend him; and he enjoys the advantage, as he supposes,
of not being obliged to send me out of the room if he is
conversing with any one, which he is always obliged to
do with his other servants, as they understand the lan-
guage.

Last night, as I was undressing him in his room, Bion-
dello was present. After conversing upon some indifferent
topics, they began about me. Biondello thought my qua-
lities were stupidity, sincerity, and honesty. The Prince
said that he was pleased with my person, and thought the
qualities Biondello spoke of were better than?good intellects
united with a bad heart. " He is also courageous," said
he ; (f and to that I owe my life, at least my freedom." —

144- THE GHOST-SEER.

Biondello understood this hint. He altered his 'tone
immediately ; for, at first, he was very satirical. He might
have forgotten himself. He now talked a great deal about
me, and said many handsome things of me to flatter the
Prince. From that they turned to the subject of the attack
made upon the Prince, and cracked their brains for a long
time to discover the person who hired the bravos to murder
him. That the note did not come from the Armenian,
Biondello maintained; for it was not likely that, if he meant
to attempt the Prince's life, he would execute his plans
with such temerity. The Prince agreed with him; and
the only doubt then remaining was, who could possibly
have views upon his person, if it was not him, who had
already given him to understand so. Biondello pointed out
to him the possibility that his own court had done it, to lay
hold of him. It immediately struck the Prince so forcibly,
that he broke out into a most violent passion. It is true
all circumstances united serve to strengthen this suppo-
sition ; for I learned, by the conversation, that the Prince
had lately received a very rigorous letter from thence ; and
Biondello reminded him of the conversation which passed at
St. George. This circumstance apparently confirmed the
fact in the Prince's mind. His expressions I will not re-
peat here. I do not know if I am wrong, but it seemed to
me as if Biondello was pleased with the idea, that the
Prince despised his court : for he knew the kind of language
that would increase the Prince's anger, without letting him
suspect his cunning. This man possesses dexterity suffi-
cient to guide any person where he pleases, without his
being able to perceive the thread with which he leads him.
He sometimes appears quite different to that which you
would suspect. Towards me he did not always act with
such precaution ; for that reason I discovered more of his
character than I otherwise could have done. He had strict
orders from that hour to have his wits about him, and also

to intercept the letters of Baron F (a cavalier of the

Prince's household) to Count O , to see if they would

lead to any thing satisfactory. " For/' added the Prince,

" this F seemed some time back dissatisfied with my

continuing here."

THE GHOST-SEER.

145

What this will lead to I am not able to see at present.

I wish I could but give a hint to Baron F to be upon

his guard ; for if Biondello conspires against him, he must
fall a sacrifice to his plans.

Several days after. — Biondello every day puts more and
more confidence in me, and it is, in all probability, be-
cause I communicate to him, with the greatest accuracy,
all that I hear and see ; but you'll understand, I tell him
only those things which he ought to know. — I seem to
keep no secret from him. He often listens with the great-
est patience to the ridiculous nonsense with which I en-
deavour to entertain him ; and he generally compliments
me upon my talents and good conduct in trusting to him
with such sincerity. Indeed, the method I have taken is
the best way to ensure his countenance. But he is mis-
taken in my character, notwithstanding the accurate know-
ledge he possesses of mankind. In every conversation I
distinguish more and more what an opinion he has of me ;
indeed he begins to give me little commissions, but which
at present do not consist of any thing farther than to have
a watchful eye, in his absence, upon the Prince's conduct,
and to communicate to him all that I have perceived and
heard. And, to enable me to do this effectually, he takes
care that every little new trait in my character is reported
in a favourable manner to the Prince, who becomes every
day more and more attached to me, and prefers me to all
his other servants ; indeed he has of late appeared very
suspicious of them, which is, in all probability, a con-
trivance of Biondello, in whom he puts the most un-
limited confidence. That I should succeed so well, and
in so short a time, I did not imagine ; it exceeds my most
sanguine expectations. I will set it down as one of my
great masterpieces of art, if I am able to outwit this
Biondello.

A certain Marquis, by name Civitella, has just left the
Prince. I have often seen him here. I question whether
he seeks any thing beyond the honour of the Prince's
friendship. They seem very intimately acquainted, and
indeed I cannot blame the Prince for that; for this Mar-
quis has many good qualities, and seems to study to dis-

VOL. I. K

146 THE GHOST-SEER.

play them to advantage in the presence of the Prince
However, I have heard the Prince many times promise to
pay him money ; and, from what I could collect, it is not
a small sum. — Then the Prince is in deht — it cannot be
otherwise, from his present extravagance. — But how are his
debts to be paid, when I know, for certain, that he receives
nothing from his court ? Is not this a diabolical plan of
the Armenian, to detain him, and succeed in his designs
upon him ? I advise you, friend, to provide yourself with
money, which may be had immediately upon your orders.
I leave it entirely to your prudence, how you will accom-
plish this necessary object without betraying yourself.

I must tell you of a discovery which I have just made,
and which I think of consequence: — The Prince generally
goes out towards evening, and this happens very often;
and, to-day I hear, he belongs to a certain society, called
the Bucentauro. Could you not learn something about
this sect ; and whether we must also direct our attention
to that ? He was scarcely gone, when I hastened to my
room to write to you. I had just finished the last line
as Biondello came in. I must tell you that he does not
suspect any thing when he finds me engaged in writing.
I have told him that I have a great delight in making
verses, and on that account I have always a poem lying at
my side, which, as soon as I hear any person coming,
I put in tne place of the letter ; and, to play my part well,
I affect to translate it to him (for he does not understand
English), and repeat the most stupid nonsense with a kind
of poetic mania. This time he had not a desire to hear
my poetry, but entreated me to defer reading it to a future
opportunity, and go with him to his room ; so that he
might be present when the Prince arrived. This I did,
and I was obliged to report to him all that had happened
to the Prince during his absence. When we were in the
height of our conversation, there came into the room an
old man. He was bent low beneath his years ; but there
was an expression in his countenance which ill accorded
with his age. His voice also was full and regular, and
he had not that trembling pronunciation which generally
tffects aged people. Biondello told me that he was his

THE GHOST-SEER. 14?

relation. I was going to absent myself, but he entreated
me to stay ; as his cousin, he said, did not understand any
other language than the Venetian, and as, besides, he had
nothing of consequence to communicate to him. The old
man looked at me with suspicion, but I busied myself
with a book, and took no notice of him. " Do you know
for certain that he does not understand us ? " said he.
" Are you sure that he is not an impostor?"

Biondello told him he need not be under any apprehen-
sion.— He described my character to him, and said, that
in spite of my stupidity he could make me of service to
him. " I will believe you," he exclaimed, " for I am
acquainted with your talent in the knowledge of mankind,
and which makes you worthy of your dangerous employ-
ment. The greater part of the fabric, which I have
curiously raised, rests upon your shoulders. Do not loose,
for heaven's sake, at the moment of its accomplishment,
that firmness which will prevent our being buried in the
ruins. I know your caution and foresight are very great.
Think also on the reward you will gain, when we behold

your giant work completed. I expect letters from ,

and we are then at the summit of our wishes; for the
Prince will not make any resistance."

" The journey then, which you undertook, has been of
great service ? " ' ' Is there any thing impossible ? Had
I not found great difficulty in persuading the court of
— d — to agree in our plans, the mountains, which now
appear before us, should long ago have disappeared. I
did not mistrust you, believe me. Though it were so,
I should forgive you ; for how could you be able to pene-
trate into my schemes ? — You believed that many things
were the effect of chance, which I contrived and put into
execution. — Can you suppose that the Prince of — d —
came to Venice for nothing ? " " No one can possibly
imagine what steps your prudence takes." " You must
know then that he came hither at my request, to entice
our Prince to a licentious manner of living, and to bring
him, by that means, nearer to the point on which my plans
are centred." te Pardon me, when you could so easily
BL 2

148 THE GHOST-SEER.

have communicated with the court upon the conduct of
the Prince,, why was that journey necessary ? "

" Is it not easier to remove a prince from the place
where it is likely his penetrating eyes would have pried
into our designs, than to make thousands privy to our
plans ? I had only to write to the Prince to come., for we
liad settled it some time ago. — I knew he was a member

of the order of . I am one of them. I wrote to the

superiors of the order, and they contrived to send messages
to him, which made him believe he was invited to see the
internal part of the sanctuary." " I am astonished ! As
often as I see you, you always appear to me in a new and
extraordinary character." <e Hear then farther. The second

step was not difficult for me to take. The Count P

is first minister at the court of — d — . For appearance

sake, the feeble King wears the crown, but P governs :

he is the machine by which every thing is regulated. This

P has long been my friend. I was acquainted with

him whilst he was ambassador at Rome, and I proposed

him for a member of the order of . At that time

the sketch of the plan, which we are now about to execute,
was shown to him, and which was always the same, al-
though accident has changed the persons by whom it was
to have been accomplished. I wrote to him that every
thing was ready, and we waited for him only to complete
it. Nothing was easier for him than to persuade his ava-
ricious monarch to let out his troops to conquer , to

which his council had long before directed their attention.

P met me at — i — to bring me the happy account

of his success ; and the King suspected that he was gone to
conclude a promised alliance."

" Do I dream ? Is it possible to play thus with kings?"
replied Biondello. " I did not expect such a question
from you," said the old man. " Do you not know, that one
may deceive kings much easier than other people ; because
flattery succeeds to a miracle with them ; spreading, as it
were, a mist before their eyes ? And if they are prudent
enough to disregard that illusion, we must then give them
amusements to which they are attached, and never deprive
them of any thing, but what relates to state affairs, for fear

THE GHOST-SEER. 149

of incurring their displeasure."* "And does not the
King of — d — know for what purpose he lends his
powers?" " Is the architect obliged to explain his whole
design to a mason, who is employed to place stones and ex-
ecute the work,, which probably he would not even then
understand ? He works for his daily bread, and if he ob-
tains that, he is satisfied. Can the King of — d — desire
more than the acquisition of ., which must be of great
value to him, as it is immediately connected with his own
territories ? It is the object which he sets his heart upon.
However, to satisfy your curiosity would take up that time
in which I hope to hear more important accounts of the
Prince."

Biondello replied : cc Every thing is in the same state as
when you left us ; and I have only here and there added a
little where it seemed necessary." Here Biondello related
to him the event of that evening in which the Prince was
attacked, and concluded with saying, that he had made use
of that circumstance to enrage the Prince more against his
court ; for he made him believe, it was certain that the
court intended to imprison him. The old man seemed
satisfied with that, and immediately replied, Cf How is he as
to his manner of thinking ? " " He approaches more and
more to a freethinker," replied Biondello ; "and I am con-
fident but little is wanting to render him such entirely."
" Then," said the old man, " my machines act as suc-
cessfully as I can wish." f( How ! was this also your
work ? Will a freethinker believe in apparitions ? Will
he bend his neck to the yoke of a religion which puts re-
straint on him, and which it is your opinion he will accept ? "

" I see you are very little acquainted -with the human
heart. To shake a belief, which fundamentally rests upon
conviction, is very difficult ; but to guide the opinion of a
sceptic is sufficiently easy. This may seem a paradox, but
I will prove it to you: — Man — let him wear a crown, or

* I have written every thing down as I found it, and I do not know how far
this may be true. But, if I may speak my opinion, it does not appear to me
quite certain ; for I have seen in my life hut one king, and he seemed to me

so full of wisdom and majesty, (probably the old King of P , Fr. II.) that

I would have sworn that his very looks would have awed those that dared to
insult him.

K 3

1 50 THE GHOST-SEER.

the rags of a beggar — wants always a support in trying
circumstances ; and if he despairs at all, he sighs after
comfort with double anxiety. And what offers to him the
wished for consolation but religion ? Hence, it is evident,
that the religions of those nations who are still, as it may
be said, in a state of ignorance, have infinitely more cere-
monies than those that are enlightened. The Prince rejected
this support, and launched boldly into the gulf of so-
phistry. The more he meditates upon it, the more it will
perplex him. As he sinks beneath enquiry, he will greedily
devour any new idea that tends to dissipate the former.
And is not the Catholic religion, in which there are so many
saints that he cannot doubt his preservation, exactly cal-
culated for the purpose ?"

" How ! Do I hear right ? Did you not extol the prin-
ciples of doubt, and yet you called scepticism a tottering
fabric ? Have you also been converted, and have you found
a greater consolation in contemplating the scapulary, than
in your former rational way of thinking ?" f< Why do you
let appearances so often deceive you ? Is not the tool that is
used by the mechanic for the most curious purposes, when
placed in the hand of a child, a dangerous instrument, with
which it innocently wounds itself? Does not solid food
affect the feeble stomach, whilst it operates not upon a
strong one ? And will not a child throw from it the in-
strument with which it has wounded itself, whilst the artist
would not sell it for any price ? Will not the person of a
weak stomach avoid food that is disagreeable to it, whilst
the hungry healthy man enjoys it ? But I will argue
otherwise. What is belief, and what is disbelief ? Does
not the Mahometan think that his belief is founded upon
principle and authority, and call the Christian an unbeliever;
whilst the latter thinks the same of him ? Hence, then,
we may conclude, that belief depends merely upon con-
viction, the want of which is disbelief. — This is self-
evident."

" You think, then, a fundamental belief is that of which
we feel convinced, and also that men may entertain different
opinions upon the same subject, and yet be called believers.'
" They both undoubtedly think that they are so." " Is

THE GHOST-SEER. 151

not that an argument against you ? If the Prince thinks
that his belief is fundamental — " " Then it would be
difficult to wean him from it; but he does not think so."
" And yet he adheres to it with firmness, and defends his
opinion with the greatest warmth." " Let me ask you one
question: — Does conviction always carry with it tranquillity
of mind ? " f f I thought that they were inseparable."

" And do you find it with the Prince? Have you not
often told me, that, when free from dissipation, he was
dissatisfied with himself? He is the child who is pleased
with the brightness of a knife, which he throws away as
soon as he is hurt by it; he is the invalid whose sto-
mach cannot digest heavy food ; who guards against it as
soon as he perceives the evil ; and then, in order to rid
himself as soon as possible of his former disorder, adopts
a lighter diet as necessary. The Prince thinks that many
of those things are beneath his notice which men seize
upon with so much eagerness, and from which continual re-
flection and an unbiassed mind alone can deliver us. And
I declare to you, that in a short time he will believe in

spirits and apparitions. I do not know him 1 do not

know the human heart, if his former bigoted ideas of re-
ligion do not return with double force. Must not this
consequence obtrude itself upon him as soon as his expe-
rience teaches him that apparitions do exist ; that his
present philosophy could not once make him disbelieve this,
which is the most trifling and unimportant point that a man
can doubt of. Would it not much less be able to eradicate
that idea from his mind which education, custom, and our
own partiality, have concurred to proclaim by an internal
voice ? Will he not pass from professed freethinking to the
contrary extreme, and thank the man who leads him to it ? "

Biondello was silent, and appeared perfectly convinced.
The old man rose slowly from his arm-chair ; Biondello
then told him something which I was not able to under-
stand distinctly ; but I learned that he was to prepare the
machines ; for, the day after to-morrow, there was to be a
grand feast.

Well, friend, what do you think of this conversation ?
The least that we can infer from it is, that Biondello
K 4 %

152 THE GHOST-SEER.

is concerned in the plot against the Prince. Who can
possibly be that old man ? — Is it not merely the gas-
conade which is always peculiar to those sort of people ?
because they by that method keep their underlings (of
whom, in all probability, Biondello is one) in an astonish-
ing dread of their power. So that I know not what to
think of his making use of the — d — for the execution of
his plan. And for what purpose was this employed ?
How can it have any reference to the Prince ? How does

this all agree w^th ? — Ha ! I have a thought — What

if they intend to create the Prince King of ? — Per-
haps this may be the intention of the court of — d — .
— I must confess sincerely, that, at present, all is a perfect
mystery to me.

The same to the same.

October the 4th.

The Prince is invited to-morrow to a feast, which is
given in St. Benedetto, and, as I understand, merely on his
account. His whole household (except one) will be present !
and who this one should be is a matter of great dispute.
The lot will probably fall to Biondello, because he has pre-
tended for some time to be indisposed. I call it a pretence,
because, in my presence, he does not appear so, at least less
than when the Prince is present. He will, perhaps, as soon
as we are gone, employ his time in the preparation of the
machines of which the old man spoke. His pretended in-
disposition prevents suspicion, and makes it more probable.
And may it not be possible tha